


The Trials of Obi-Wan Kenobi

by nutmeg223



Series: Runs in the Lineage [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Assorted Original Jedi Characters, Caretaking, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Emotionally constipated Jedi, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Jedi, Jedi Momsquad, Jedi figuring out feelings, Jedi rebellion, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), No Sex, Panicking Jedi Masters, Parent-Child Relationship, Reformation, Spanking, What if the Jedi were forced to reform, tea is important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeg223/pseuds/nutmeg223
Summary: After getting back to the Temple, securing Anakin in The Halls of Healing, and being ratted out to his Master, Obi-Wan faces a very different kind of Trial.





	1. The Trials of a Different Color

Obi-Wan woke slowly, squirming out of the tangle of blankets and raising up on one elbow to peer about the room. Morning light gloomed around the tightly drawn blinds, and the steady drip of raindrops against the panes reminded him that it was one of the planned rain days for the month. He debated rolling up in the blankets and going back to sleep, but discarded the idea just as quickly as it came.

Remembering the previous night (and wincing at his behavior - honestly,  _ what _ was he thinking?) he sent a cautious request to Qui-Gon.

In lieu of an answer, Qui-Gon soon appeared in the doorway.

“Am I in any danger of you behaving today, Padawan-mine?” He asked, a wry twist to his mouth.

“I can certainly  _ try _ ,” Obi-Wan grinned at him. He was, admittedly, still a bit tender from Qui-Gon’s...early morning rebuke. Enough that he’d at least attempt to behave. For the moment. 

“Then wash up and come out to breakfast, Padawan. No,” he interrupted Obi-Wan heading toward his room for clothing. “You’re spending the day resting.”

Obi-Wan sighed, but he knew it was just what he deserved. Just as his Master trailing him to the ‘fresher and overseeing a quick scrub and brush was deserved.   _ Disliked _ , but very well deserved.

Ugh.

 

Obi-Wan trailed Qui-Gon into the kitchen and folded himself onto his chair. Generally, Qui-Gon scolded and swatted the side of his thigh to get him to sit properly. His Master indulged him, though, allowing him to sit cross-legged in the wide seat. Being a touch smaller than the average being intended for the furniture in their quarters rankled.

Obi-Wan stared down at the bowl Qui-Gon placed before him. His favorite porridge? He certainly hadn’t done  _ anything _ to deserve such indulgence. He'd been an absolute  _ horror _ the day before. Well, subtly, at least. At his Master's nudging, though, he picked up his spoon and took a bite. At least with his mouth occupied he couldn't  _ say _ anything awful.

"Your braid is a disgrace, Padawan." Qui-Gon tweaked the offending hair. "Eat your breakfast and I'll fix it for you."

It was a scene that had played out so many times over his apprenticeship. Really, he thought it was a chance for his Master to tend to him in some small way. They liked doing small things for one another - Obi-Wan always polished Qui-Gon's boots when he did his own, or brought his Master tea while Qui-Gon pored over data pads; Qui-Gon picked up replacement robes for Obi-Wan, or fixed his braid, or made his favorite breakfast as a treat. Qui-Gon deftly unwound the braid, saving all the little beads and bands in one of his many pockets. He handed one down to Obi-Wan, though, for safe-keeping - the bead he'd given Obi-Wan after his shared vision with Master Windu. He'd had it made from a pebble he'd found next to the river rock that was Obi-Wan's first gift from him. Obi-Wan didn't hang charms and beads all over his braid like some padawans, but he had a few that were dear to him - the tiny lightsaber from the Archivists, the blue glass bead the same color as his 'saber blade from his friends, and the tumbled stone bead from his Master - from the important people in his life.

Qui-Gon finished dismantling his braid and started combing the hair out, slowly. He never rushed the process, even if it made them late somewhere.

"How long have you been my padawan, Obi-Wan?" he asked softly.

"Twelve years, Master." Obi-Wan swallowed hastily before answering.

"You have served well and faithful-"

Their door comm rang. Obi-Wan aborted his instinctive jerk toward the door when it seemed his hair was to remain in Qui-Gon's hands.

"Leave it, Padawan. We're on the Do Not Disturb list today. As I was saying, you have served well and faithfully as my Padawan. You have been an attentive and diligent -"

The comm cut Qui-Gon off again. Obi-Wan shoved porridge in his mouth to cover the giggle that threatened to escape. Qui-Gon cleared his throat.

"You have been an attentive and diligent stu -"

The third time the comm rang, Qui-Gon dropped Obi-Wan's hair, stalked to the door, and palmed it open.

"We're on the Do Not Disturb list, Mace," Qui-Gon growled.

"Not for this, you're not."

Obi-Wan watched with avid interest as Master Windu barged into their quarters, slapping a data pad against Qui-Gon's chest as he passed.

"What did you know?" he whirled around to face Qui-Gon in a swirl of robes.

Obi-Wan appreciated his style...from the table, where he remained obediently eating his breakfast, no matter how much he wanted to see what was on that pad. He had learned  _ some _ restraint in twelve years.

"About?" Qui-Gon asked mildly.

Master Yoda followed in Master Windu's wake, looking equally as annoyed.

"Bring down the whole order, this could! Thinking, were you?"

 

Well, there went a  _ boring _ day.

 

Qui-Gon, by the grace of years of experience, neatly side-stepped the gimer stick to the shin Yoda attempted.   

"I'm still not sure what you're talking about. Would you like to sit?" Qui-Gon turned his attention to the data pad.

"Good morning Master Yoda, Master Windu," Obi-Wan at least bowed his head politely, but stuck to his seat.

The embarrassment of being caught still in his  _ pajamas _ so late in the day (with his braid in disarray, no less) pinked his cheeks, but Master Yoda's comments upon entering at least promised something interesting would come from it. And it seemed like  _ he _ was being roundly ignored, in any case.

"That went out to all Jedi and Corps comms early this morning. What did you know about it? It has your...heresy written all over it." Master Windu glared at Qui-Gon.

"Hmm…" Qui-Gon scrolled through, scanning the contents. "At first glance, this seems like an extremely well-thought-out plan to evolve and modernize the Order that still remains true to our core values. I would guess that this required a good deal of time to complete, as well. Nothing to do with me, though, I'm afraid. Sounds exactly like any other message from the Council."

"Nothing to do with you?" Mace snorted. "Really?"

"When am I supposed to have had time for heresy?" Qui-Gon asked patiently. "We've been on almost back-to-back missions for the past year."

"In chaos, the Council is. Find those responsible, they wish."

"I'm not entirely sure what it is you want from me. I was certainly not part of this, but I would recommend living with it. You're not going to be able to put this bantha back in the paddock."

Obi-Wan hastily shoved a spoonful of breakfast into his mouth, trying not to snicker at the venerable, and panicking, Jedi Masters pacing the living room. Well, panicking for Jedi.

He didn't think he'd  _ ever _ seen them so perturbed, and that included the time Minty and Madame Nu had a particularly vicious fight over accession numbers in front of the Initiates. And several visiting members of the Senate.

"Have something to say, do you, Padawan Kenobi?" Yoda narrowed his eyes. "Amusing, you find this?"

"No, Master Yoda, not at all." Obi-Wan answered meekly, trying to look as innocent and fragile as possible. He knew Yoda had a bit of a soft spot for him. 

He tried not to think about archivists at all, just in case...and mentally axed any mention of slicing, as well. He didn't  _ know _ , but this had certain fingerprints all over it.

"Hmph," Yoda glared at him suspiciously.

"Padawan Kenobi, you're acquainted with some of the Knights who may have been involved. Did you have prior knowledge of any of this?" Mace turned his fearsome glare on Obi-Wan.

"No, Master Windu." Obi-Wan answered truthfully. "We've been mostly out of the Temple this year. I wouldn't have had time for  _ anything _ like this. Master Qui-Gon and I have been extremely busy."

Obi-Wan sipped his tea, porridge regretfully gone, as both Master Windu and Master Yoda turned back to Qui-Gon.

"So you deny any involvement in this?" Mace asked. "Both of you?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon sighed. "Although, I'd caution you to leave it be. If the Council tries to back away from such reforms, especially after they've been so widely disseminated with the apparent approval of the Council, you're likely to have many leaving the Order entirely. I would certainly consider it."

"I'd go too." Obi-Wan blurted it out before he could stop himself. He could  _ feel _ himself turning pink, and wondered if  _ suicidal outspokenness _ could be carried through a Force lineage. With his luck, he'd inherited it from his Master.

"Split, the Council is. Fear, we do, that the Order will also split." Yoda supplied the answer as it seemed that Master Windu's role was to grumble and accuse. Although, after Obi-Wan's confession, he looked more like he was trying not to swallow his own tongue in sheer outrage.

"The eminently sensible part of what you showed me made it clear that no one is  _ required _ to start dealing with their emotions in any way other than releasing them into the Force, or to start having attachments, only that we're now  _ allowed _ to. It's an important distinction, and one of which I whole-heartedly approve."

"But this  _ could _ -" Mace interrupted.

"It could do many things, including bringing our Order into the present, and giving our members more of a connection to it, and to one another. Now, esteemed Masters, as my Padawan and I are quite busy, I would ask you to take your leave. I can assure you that we have nothing to do with this, and to continue to suggest otherwise is insinuating that we're liars. I bid you good day."

Obi-Wan watched in shock as Qui-Gon marched back to the door, palmed it open, and waited pointedly. He didn't think he'd  _ ever _ seen anyone kick Council members out of their quarters before. Both Masters thankfully took the hint and left in the same swirl of robes and righteous indignation in which they'd entered.

Qui-Gon leaned against the door after it closed and took several deep breaths. He straightened up again and marched back to his room, leaving Obi-Wan rather confused. He sighed and got up to make Qui-Gon a cup of tea. Maybe the man just needed a few minutes of quiet. Obi-Wan certainly felt like he needed it. He ferreted about in the cabinets until he found Qui-Gon's small chocolate stash. It  _ was _ a bit early in the day, but he thought perhaps his Master could use the indulgence.

He set both tea and chocolate on the table before curling up in his seat again. Qui-Gon returned moments later and stopped short when he saw his place at the table.

"Thank you, Padawan." He set the bundle of pale green fabric he carried on one of the other chairs and picked up his tea to take a sip. "Now, drink your tea and I'll finish your braid."

Obi-Wan did as he was told, settling comfortably back in his chair, but his conscience pricked at him.

"Master?" He picked at his shirt cuff.

"What troubles you, young one?" Qui-Gon braided slowly, soothing his Padawan with the surety of his touch.

"I may not have been completely honest with Master Yoda and Master Windu?" He handed up his bead when Qui-Gon tapped his shoulder.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon kept his tone mild. "In what way?"

"I might have an idea of who's involved in the reforms?"

Qui-Gon barked out a laugh, making Obi-Wan jump.

"Padawan-mine, everyone in the Temple, from the Creche-lings to the oldest Master, knows who is involved in this. The Council can't do a damn thing, though, because no one will give up a name."

"Not everyone may have helped slice into the Council system?" Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon tie off the end of his braid.

He looked at his hands as Qui-Gon sat and pulled his chair around. His Master's broad hands cupped over his, stilling them from picking at his cuffs any further.

"You'll fray it, if you keep that up. Now, what do you mean by that, young man?"

"I think Minty tried to keep me away from it as much as possible, but I was visiting, once, and some of them were trying to slice something, but they were doing it  _ so badly _ . I just...took over?"

"Of course you did. Obi-Wan, look at me."

He did as Qui-Gon bid, hoping he wouldn't see disappointment in his Master's face, and found only love and pride.

"I am incredibly proud of you, Obi-Wan. I know I ought to be quite put out with you, but I'm not. You helped some very brave young people into the right place to do what needed to be done. The Council would never have listened to any of us. Now is there anything else you'd like to confess to your Master?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

"I, perhaps, told Anakin I'd see what I could do for his mother?"

Qui-Gon let loose another laugh.

"Oh, my Obi-Wan, I fear I've completely corrupted you! What happened to my model Padawan?" he teased.

"I may have grown up, just a bit, Master." Obi-Wan managed a grin back. "If I need help arranging for Anakin's mother, can I ask you?"

"You may always ask for my help, Obi-Wan. And, speaking of growing up, before we were interrupted, I was trying to tell you that it has been a joy and a privilege to be your Master."

"Master, that sounds...ominous?"

"There was a time, Padawan, when one's Trials were not a short endeavor. When they were not so much a test, as a time of self-discovery and reflection. I...it would be a great honor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, if you would allow me to walk with you, to guide you on your path as a Knight Initiate. It won't be easy, Obi-Wan. I'll ask much of you, especially that you learn to give yourself the care you give others."

"I cannot think of anyone I would rather walk with on this journey, Master. I will work to prove myself worthy of Knighthood." Obi-Wan swallowed thickly as Qui-Gon stood to retrieve the green bundle from the chair.

"You've never been anything other than worthy, my very dear Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon shook out the cloth, revealing a robe in palest spring green. "Your braid and your robe will mark you out as we walk the path to Knighthood together. As you get closer to your knighting, your robes will become darker, until they reach the darkest green. Ever after, you will have the right to wear either those or the brown robes. We were once a much more colorful order."

Obi-Wan fingered the cloth, surprised at how soft it felt.

"It was woven in-Temple, each stitch set by hand, by those who care for you, as is the tradition, to remind you that you're never alone on your journey. Each robe you wear during this time will be made in the same way." Qui-Gon held the robe open, letting Obi-Wan slip into it.

Obi-Wan tucked his hands into the sleeves, marveling at the feel of the fabric. He swore he could feel his Master, Minty and the other Archivists, Arthane and Mehr'khet, Garen, Bantt, Quin, Davrios, and so many others with him. He felt their love, their care, and had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat.

"It's beautiful, Master. I am honored that you would wish to walk this path with me." His lips trembled, and Qui-Gon pulled him into a strong hug, one hand cradling the back of his head.

"All is well, my Knight Initiate. We will speak in more detail of your new path when you wake."

"Master?" Obi-Wan winced at the watery sound of his voice. "I only just got up."

"Mm, yes, and now you're going back to bed for a while. We had an extremely broken night, and you need extra rest at the moment. No," Qui-Gon cut him off at the first in-drawn breath. "I'll not hear any argument from you. Consider it practicing obedience and self-care."

Obi-Wan wondered exactly how much trouble he'd be in if he pitched his Master out a window as Qui-Gon steered him back to bed. Probably too much to make it worthwhile.

Although, the Council might just thank him for getting rid of a perpetual thorn in their sides...


	2. Swinging Between Fine and Unpardonably Grumpy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really did not need the reminder that he remained on some extremely thin ice. So he sighed, and possibly allowed himself a quiet grump, but went. Four nights of generally decent sleep turned him from exhaustion-dazed to still-sleep-deprived-grumpy, but weren't enough to turn the tide.
> 
> Warning: if you didn't read the tags, thar be spanking/discipline here.

Trailing his Master about the Temple, from the Halls of Healing to a "gentle" exercise session, was not precisely how Obi-Wan wanted to spend day five of his Trials. On making his opinion known, however, Qui-Gon simply glared him into submission,  _and_ threatened to withhold tea.

Which was a completely unfair use of That Look, in Obi-Wan's opinion, and a blatant abuse of power.

He really did  _ not _ need the reminder that he remained on some extremely thin ice. So he sighed, and possibly allowed himself a quiet grump, but went. Four nights of generally decent sleep turned him from exhaustion-dazed to still-sleep-deprived-grumpy, but weren't enough to turn the tide. 

Which, ugh.

He _knew_ he had a lot to make up for, but as with most Jedi, he expected himself to bounce back within a few days of proper food and rest. That he wasn't...the less said about his attitude on the subject, the better. Especially to his Master, who had a nasty habit of calling him even closer to heel when he got...annoyed with himself.

He caught sight of Quin and Dav as he hurried after Qui-Gon, his Master again forgetting to shorten his long stride.

"Master?" He poked their bond at the same time, thankfully getting Qui-Gon to stop.

"Hmm? Did you need something, Obi-Wan?"

Other than him to slow down so he didn't have to scuttle?

"Master, may I please speak with Knight Vos and Archivist Davrios?" Obi-Wan waited, hands folded in his sleeves, for his Master to decide.

"Straight across the corridor, and don't leave my sight, Obi-Wan. I'll wait for you here." He settled on a bench in a nearby alcove.

Obi-Wan caught Quin and Dav's attention, and the two men made their way back to him. Which helped, because he was at about the limit of his Master's sight line as it was.

"Short-leashed again, hmm?" Quin teased by way of a greeting. "And congratulations."

"That's not the half of it, if Mints and Lex are to be believed," Dav added, folding Obi-Wan into a strong hug. "You're too skinny again, shortstack. And we're all ridiculously proud of you."

Of course, all hugs from Dav were strong; he shared his build with the refectory refrigeration units. Obi-Wan settled into the embrace, appreciating the grounding effect. Dav shared that with his Master. That, and the habit of resting his chin on top of Obi-Wan's head. He squirmed around until he faced front again, about as far as he could move without doing violence to a friend. Dav preferred keeping Obi-Wan at least within arm's reach, especially when he thought Obi-Wan wasn't feeling well.

"I'm not short; you're all just freakishly tall. And they're vile, vile gossips." Obi-Wan sniffed, firmly ignoring the praise. "Who may, possibly be correct. Also, I'm calling in one of my favors."

"Oh, are you?" Quin smirked. "I'm all ears, Obi. What is it?"

"There's someone on Tatooine who needs to be picked up and brought to the Temple. She was left behind due to some...difficult circumstances." 

"New Initiate's mother?" Quin asked. "Don't look like an offended Lothcat, Obi, it's all over the Temple, since it was supposed to be kept quiet. He likes to talk about her. Apparently, she's amazing."

"Fine," Obi-Wan grumbled, only slightly mollified by Dav's comforting squeeze. "You'll need to stop to speak to Queen Amidala for the funds. She's quite eager to help."

"That the address you commed earlier?" Dav's voice rumbled in his chest.

"Mm-hmm. And if payment doesn't work," Obi-Wan took Quin's hand in his and pressed the small scanner he'd had up his sleeve into it. "You may need to get inventive."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Dav growled in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "Where did you get that?"

"Healer Mehr'khet wandered into my exam today, set it on the counter, and said 'Oh, dear. Where did my extra, contraband scanner go? I'm so absent minded. I do hope it doesn't make it to Tatooine.' before leaving again." Obi-Wan explained quickly. "I think she's taken a liking to Anakin."

The scanner disappeared into Quin's sleeve.

"We'll get her here. Comm us her information." Quin cupped his cheek, gently. "And for everyone's sanity, Obi, listen to your Master and get yourself healthy again. You still look dreadful. I don't want to know what you looked like four days ago."

"I…" Obi-Wan started to retort hotly, but stopped at Dav's cleared throat. "I'm doing my best, really."

"As if that was in doubt." Dav rubbed his cheek on Obi-Wan's hair. "Just behave yourself and sleep, hmm? We've got to get moving or we'll miss our transport, but we'll be back soon."

He turned Obi-Wan loose with a quick squeeze, and Quin pulled him in for a rough hug.

"Comm if you're allowed. We shouldn't be more than a few weeks, and then there's the Home-Finding."

"And if you don't start gaining weight back, I'm telling your Master to start feeding you himself." Dav got in one more hug before he ruffled Obi-Wan's hair.

He loved them, he really did, but there were times when Obi-Wan was thrilled to see the back of his friends. Particularly when they were being bossy, overbearing creeps. Creeps who escorted him back to his Master with a cheerful greeting and a 'thought you'd like him returned with no wandering'. Honestly, he wasn't  _ still a child, thank you very much indeed _ .

"Come, Obi-Wan, or we'll be late."

Obi-Wan fell into step just behind his Master's shoulder, shielding his emotions until they no longer swirled with affronted pride and indignation. He could come up with roughly 465 more important things to do with his time than attend one of the sessions Minty ran to address both late-stage physical therapy needs and body awareness, if anyone asked his opinion. He had no need of slow, gentle movement, and he remained perfectly aware of his body.

He stifled all that, though, and plastered on a relatively pleasant expression. He couldn't very well go about looking like he was about to bite; he'd scare the Initiates.

"Oh, lovely! You're a bit early!" Mintaerael chirped with all the general lack awareness of a lifelong morning person. One who knew exactly how Obi-Wan felt about chirping at people. And mornings with only one mug of tea.

Obi-Wan glared from behind his Master's shoulder. He'd be in for an earful about it as soon as she got him alone, but he rolled his eyes at her anyway.

"You're going to be working with Mirael today, dove. There's several in here a good bit younger than you, and I don't think you're up for the hopping about I'll be doing with them. I want you stretching, mostly."

Mirael materialized behind his younger sister as she spoke. All three of them, the twins and Mintaerael, were absolutely silent on their feet. And the twins tended to just appear at the Temple from wherever they were stationed just as they were needed. Spooky, even for Jedi.

"You're welcome as well, Master Jinn, if you'd like to stay."

Politely worded, with a bow to her superior in the Temple hierarchy, but it remained a distinct dismissal. Obi-Wan realised what they were doing in a sudden, icy moment of clarity. They'd done it before, usually after the bad visions or missions, from shortly after his fourteenth lifeday on. Anything that even hinted around being left. He and his Master worked some of that out with many, many visits to the mind healers, and then Qui-Gon enlisted help after he'd "had his ears scorched off by a tiny archivist with no sense of self-preservation."

He missed the rest of their conversation as Mirael put an arm around his shoulders and led him to the back of the room. He felt his Master's presence through their bond, though, distinct and warm and proud of him. He knew he'd feel that until he was picked up again, so he'd know he wasn't alone, wasn't  _ left _ .

"Why am I  _ still _ doing this?" He asked, his voice plaintive to his own ears. "I'm an  _ adult _ ."

"Our first traumas go deepest, and are the hardest to root out. Why does our Minty go silent or go away when she's most upset? Why does our Dav look for a real fight in the salles? Why do Minael and I practically have trackers embedded in our Minty's arse? Why does our Obi-Wan need reassurance that he's good enough and he won't be left at a spaceport? And why do our youngest stop looking for hugs and cuddles much too soon?" Mirael divested Obi-Wan of his robe, but with great care for the garment, and hung it well out of the way on one of the available pegs. "Get those boots and socks off, please."

Obi-Wan bent to do as he'd been told. He knew what was coming. Minty said she wanted him stretching, but it would be more what Mirael called grounding exercises. Sort of plugging oneself into the ambient Force presence of the Temple, rooting oneself most deeply in one's place. It was why Minty never wore boots, and Mirael and Minael went barefoot as soon as they reached the Temple proper.

"Come here," Mirael held out a hand to him. 

Obi-Wan went to him, let himself be positioned with his back to Mir's chest, let the older man wrap his arms around him and lean them back, Mir's upper back supported by the wall. Obi-Wan slowly found his breathing matching Mir's, deep and slow and all the way to the bottom of his lungs. The familiar, deeply safe position had him relaxing slowly, letting go of the bad temper that had plagued him all morning. Everything felt softer, fuzzier, and he wished his Master started the day with this, instead of a visit to the Halls of Healing.

"Better?" Mirael asked.

Obi-Wan nodded. 

"You know you can always ask for what you need, hmm?"

He nodded again.

"Just wanted to remind you. You have people here, Obi-Wan, willing and waiting to help you."

He felt the children entering the room without having to open his eyes. The excited fizz and sparkle in the Force reminded him that not all of their young ones dimmed in the adult expectation of humility. He wondered how it would feel if they weren't taught to hold themselves back, to shield tightly. How would the Temple feel if they weren't constantly releasing emotion into the Force, weren't purposefully blanking themselves?

"Obi-Wan, where are you?" Mirael's quiet question seeped past his thoughts.

"In the Temple...one of the salles, converted for Minty to do her thing." Obi-Wan answered promptly.

He and his Master did much the same thing - practicing being in the moment. You couldn't be in the moment if you lost the plot.

"Who's here with you?"

"You're Mirael, and Mints is at the front of the room. I felt Anakin come in, too. He's bright, still."

"Good. Thank you. We're about to start. Can you lay down for me?" The soft questions and easy requests melted the discreet sulk Obi-Wan had indulged in all morning.

He folded easily down into one of the mats spread at the back of the room. It was always easy with Mirael. Like all the Ravens, he ignored completely the distance he was supposed to keep. And...they did it with each other, too,which helped. No one got singled out. They called each other on things, and helped each other through rough patches, and put each other back together when it got bad. 

There were no suspicious looks or worrying that someone would report you...just acceptance that you were a person, that people had sometimes extremely complicated feelings, and that is was ok. That you'd be helped, and not reprimanded. That the Force  _ wanted _ them to look on one another with engaged and loving compassion, not judging detachment.

He felt the music start, and went nearly boneless on his mat. For the first several sessions, Mintaerael kept everything simple - just a drum or bass line that connected with however the ambient Force of the Temple felt that day. He felt Mirael near him, warm and safe. He knew exactly what Minty was up to, in the guise of teaching younglings better flexibility and body awareness, and providing safe, gentle movement for the recuperating. 

The drumming served as a conduit for the younglings, since they were still learning the meditations and how a good one felt. She was attaching them to the Temple, rooting them deeply in this place and the feeling of the Force, and teaching them that they were safe.

As weird as it felt sometimes, the Temple had a certain...sentience of its own after millennia of Force users walking its halls. You could feel it if you slowed down and paid attention, but so many of them rushed everywhere now that they missed it. Obi-Wan brought his hands over his head, opening his chest up and arching his back. Mirael held his shoulders down, just enough to open him up a little more and provide traction for his lower back.

They wouldn't do much more than that today, but that was fine. Well, sort of fine. He'd have to resign himself to being forced to move slowly and let his body heal itself for a while. Preferably, a short while.

He breathed deeply and felt the Force...the Temple if he was honest...cradle him gently. As always when they did this, he felt safe and deeply, deeply loved. It was a beautiful, wonderfully orienting feeling that went straight into his bones, and he let himself sink into it, to trust that Mirael and Minty and his Master would keep him safe, as well, that he could let go for the present moment.

* * *

Later, he and Qui-Gon walked slowly back to their quarters. He held onto the deep calm, so relaxed that Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around his shoulders to guide him rather than let him try to keep up. He felt the grumpiness trying to return, and he very much did  _ not _ want to ruin his afternoon. He'd had a hard enough morning.

"I think I'm going to start insisting that you do this more often, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon kept his voice quiet.

"Mmm, s'nice, Master. Calm n'safe." Obi-Wan slurred as he was ushered into their quarters.

"I can see that," Qui-Gon chuckled and divested Obi-Wan of his robe.

"M'sorry I was a brat this morning." He had, possibly, been chewing on that since he calmed down enough to start thinking. Connecting up the words from his brain to his tongue took a great deal of effort, though.

"You don't care for the Halls of Healing, my boy, I know." Qui-Gon led him back to his own room, rooted in a dresser drawer for a moment, and handed Obi-Wan a sleep tunic.  "Grumpy is not the end of the world."

Obi-Wan automatically shouldered out of his Jedi tunics and into the sleepwear, doing the same with the soft trousers his Master handed him a moment later.

"I was rude...and difficult." Obi-Wan admitted softly, his mouth finally working properly again.

"Are you going to get worked up over this, ending in an extremely unpleasant evening for us? Or should we deal with your guilt after lunch?" Qui-Gon asked mildly, wrapping Obi-Wan in one of his robes.

It was too big. His clothes always would be for Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan had always taken comfort in wrapping up in one of his robes.

"Master!" Obi-Wan objected, letting himself be led out to the kitchen. "I'm not  _ that _ bad."

"Hmm. I'll reserve judgment on that. We'll deal with rudeness after we eat. For now, you can stay right here." He parked Obi-Wan at the only bare stretch of (horribly, awfully familiar) wall in the kitchen.

"Master?"

"Think about how you'd like the rest of today to go. Are you going to reclaim the calm, or are you going to wind yourself up because you didn't want to go anywhere, and then I left you somewhere?"

"I'm  _ not fourteen _ ."

"Thank you for reminding me that you can count. Quiet, please. You need to think."

Think, not meditate. Qui-Gon  _ never _ used meditation in discipline. Even before physical chastisement became an option, he never set meditation as punishment. Meditation, for them, was special. Maybe he'd set Obi-Wan a series on a particular subject, but that was for clarity and better understanding  _ after _ he'd been disciplined. Not that he'd misbehaved often as a child.

No, he'd apparently saved all of those urges up so he could spend his later teen years and his twenties being a complete pain. He thumped his sock-clad toes off the baseboard, trying to regain the calm he'd felt with Mirael.  _ What _ was wrong with him?  _ Honestly _ !

"Mas _ ter _ !" His voice slid up into a yelp as Qui-Gon swept aside his robe and swatted him flat across his seat.

"Think, not wind yourself up and kick walls." Qui-Gon didn't sound  _ that _ annoyed, despite the swat.

Apparently, he had absolutely no room to do anything other than as he'd been told.

Obi-Wan stilled his foot and resettled, listening to the calming sounds of lunch preparation. He couldn't quite kill the guilty twist in his stomach when he thought about the morning. He hadn't been  _ obviously _ difficult, but he  _ had _ been sulky and slow and  _ internally _ disrespectful. He felt worst about that, really.

"Are you going to behave yourself and eat?" Qui-Gon's hands, warm and steady on his shoulders, bolstered him.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan answered quietly, sitting where directed.

He dragged his spoon through the soup that sat before him once Qui-Gon joined him at the table. It should have been easy to eat, but he stirred at it instead of trying a spoonful.

"You have about thirty seconds before I feed it to you, Obi-Wan." 

Amazing how easy it was to eat when you had  _ that _ hanging over your head like a thrown 'saber. He would do it, too, Obi-Wan knew from a few unpleasant memories.

"Eating is still difficult, Master. I...my body isn't very happy with me."

"And it won't be for a while, young one. We're supposed to use long-term fasting for preparation, or for emergencies, not because we've got ourselves so upset that we can't eat."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan murmured. He was right...of course he was right. 

Every time he'd tried to eat, though…

"Healer Mehr'khet told me once that she thought those tuned to the Unifying Force tended to be more highly strung than other Jedi. Something about you all vibrating at a higher frequency. I'm increasingly inclined to believe her."

"Master?" Obi-Wan blinked at the non-sequitur.

"I'm not blind, Obi-Wan. You're strongly connected to the Unifying Force, and it wrings you out when it has a mind to. Right now, though, you need to concentrate on minding me, and not your overwrought nervous system, no matter what the Unifying Force is up to. You're going to eat lunch, now."

The deep, growled 'now' unlocked something in him, and Obi-Wan found himself eating with interest for the first time in months. Well, interest in self-preservation, anyhow. He really didn't want to get into a test of wills with Qui-Gon Jinn. That only ever ended badly for his backside, and he wasn't about to court  _ further _ attention, since it sounded like Qui-Gon had decided his fate.

Lunch ended both too soon and after an interminable wait for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon stopped him from taking care of the few dishes, not that Obi-Wan had anticipated being allowed to wash more than two plates, and towed him to the lounge and the chair. He sat, never letting go of Obi-Wan's wrist, which served to make Obi-Wan feel about six and completely in disgrace, before he very gently removed Obi-Wan's robe. 

Obi-Wan squirmed on the spot as Qui-Gon's hands went to the drawstring of his trousers.

"I think I'll be fine, Master, really. There's no need for…and I..." he trailed off as his trousers and shorts slipped south.

"I think there's every need, my boy. You made it abundantly clear that you either had a warm backside now or a prolonged and unpleasant tantrum this evening. As I'd like both of us to have a quiet evening, and perhaps our first uninterrupted night's sleep, we'll get any unpleasantness out of the way."

Obi-Wan found himself quickly over his Master's knee, studying an all-too-familiar patch of floor. His Master's hand, resting warm across his seat, provided a sudden and horrible clarity on his behavior before and after spending time with Mirael. He'd been so...childish. Kicking the wall? Ugh.

"Master, I'm sorry...I was awful this morning," he mumbled.

"You were hardly awful, Obi-Wan, but your behavior warrants some correction, if we're to have a pleasant afternoon."

With that, the first swat fell. Obi-Wan gasped, and sucked in a breath to yelp at the next hard smack. He yelped his way through four more equally hard smacks before Qui-Gon stopped, resting his hand across his backside again.

"Are you done sulking today?"

"Yes! Yes, Master! I'm very done." Obi-Wan answered fervently.

"That's good to hear." Qui-Gon answered him, his voice mild.

Obi-Wan hoped he'd be let up; it happened sometimes. His hopes were dashed when instead of putting him on his feet, his Master swatted him crisply. Obi-Wan jumped and yelped, trying not to squirm everywhere as another five measured spanks followed. The heat behind certainly cleared up any lingering grumpiness, fast. He found himself back on his feet with clothes righted a moment later.

"Master!" He gasped, not quite believing the sting raised by twelve smacks with the flat of his Master's palm. "Ow!"

"So, you're planning on behaving for me?" Qui-Gon stood and cupped Obi-Wan's cheek. "Because I'd much rather not spend the afternoon spanking you."

"I'm very, very done, Master. I'll behave." 

"Good. Come with me."

Obi-Wan found himself led over to the sofa where Qui-Gon settled cross-legged on the cushions. He curled himself into his Master's lap at the insistent tug on his wrist and let the older man help him settle. Qui-Gon wrapped the throw from the back of the sofa around them, cocooning Obi-Wan in warmth. Obi-Wan rested his cheek against the soft cloth of Qui-Gon's tunic and savored the warmth.

"I keep swinging between fine and unpardonably grumpy, Master.  _ Why _ did you call my Trials now?"

"You could walk into the Hall of Trials tomorrow and complete them with very little difficulty, Obi-wan. Right now, we have the gift of uninterrupted time we can use to work through the areas where you  _ do _ need help, like self care. I could send you on a solo mission tomorrow, my boy, with no worries as to you discharging your duties. I'd be a complete wreck, though, wondering how  _ you _ would come back to us. As to your mood - I'm not surprised, and we'll handle everything as it needs to be handled. You're exhausted physically, emotionally, and psychologically; you're going to find your own behavior a bit perplexing for a while."

"I wasn't even this bad as a teenager!" Obi-Wan protested, although the first answer quieted some of his anxiety surrounding the Trials.

"No, you have a great deal of self control, as you always have. You simply have no reserves left, my boy. You don't have the capacity to handle much at the moment, and you're going to have to come to grips with that."

"It's...I don't...I...I should be getting better faster than this!" Safe in his Master's lap, he could vent some frustration. "And I'm twenty-five! Far too old to be cuddled and sitting in laps."

"Says who?" Qui-Gon asked gently. "I find nothing inappropriate in my apprentice needing me this way. Why should you be exiled from what comforts you simply because you're over a particular age? Have either of us made inappropriate advances in the other?"

"Ugh! Master, no! Don't be disgusting!" Obi-Wan hid his face as well as he could.

"Then I don't see what your age has to do with this, unless it's some complicated Obi-Wan standard that only applies to my Knight Initiate?"

Ugh. Applying overly stringent standards to his behavior...was he? Qui-Gon had stepped quite hard on that years ago, but it could be rearing its ugly head again.

"Perhaps I need to start seeing Mind Healer Derfen again, Master?" It wasn't  _ exactly _ admitting to anything.

"Perhaps we both should, my boy. Now, quiet for a bit, please. I'd like you to rest."

"I'm not tired, Master." The retort came with no prompting from his brain. 

Qui-Gon snorted.

"But, as I have explained repeatedly since you became my Padawan, you are an introvert who expends a great deal of his energy socially. Energy someone doesn't have to spare right now. Need I be more persuasive?"

"Er, no Master. I'll, um, just rest."

He closed his eyes and deepened his breathing to match his Master's. Sitting close, not having to get up and rush anywhere, was a treat for both of them. And, perhaps, just perhaps, he felt a bit tired and strained now he wasn't making an effort to be lively. He wouldn't sleep, though. He wasn't  _ that _ tired.

Qui-Gon tucked Obi-Wan further under the throw once he went boneless in sleep. A small snore drifted up from somewhere around his collar bone. He breathed slowly, cleared his mind, and slipped into a light meditation, content to let Obi-Wan use him as sanctuary


	3. The Art of Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anakin Skywalker discovers that Obi-Wan might be older, but he's NOT wiser, and also has a monopoly on bad decisions.
> 
> This is a few weeks after the last chapter. Anakin would NOT stop talking until I wrote this.

Anakin strode purposefully through the Temple hallways, intent on finding Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who apparently decided he was done living and really wanted Mr. Qui-Gon to actually kill him, and so  _ left the Temple when he was already grounded.  _ And wasn't grounding weird? He still wasn't sure why being barred from doing things and having to go to bed early was a punishment.  _ You got extra sleep _ . How was more rest a  _ punishment _ ? That sounded like a holiday to him. But Obi-Wan, for some reason, felt the need to push, or something. Because apparently when you were in trouble already, what you really needed to do was get yourself in even more of it by being ridiculous. 

Although, he'd heard his Proctors sounding sort of worried, because it wasn't like Obi-Wan to do stuff like that. They'd called him 'pathologically well-behaved'. And after he and Jaspa looked up 'pathologically', he let them know that he could probably find Obi-Wan. It was one of his  _ things _ , like building wizard stuff. He always knew where his people were. 

He glanced back to make sure Proctor Bendas followed before he started down the Temple steps. He could  _ feel _ Obi-Wan close by, but sort of icky. Like, he usually felt like a banked bonfire, ready to roar to life at the smallest breeze, but now it felt...bruised. Like someone used pellas-weed instead of sandar brush, and the smoke looked green and purple and was chokingly oily. It didn't feel right at all, and he didn't like it. He also didn't like Obi-Wan going off and being dumb, because that wasn't how you treated each other. It was  _ rude _ . Even if you were upset, you didn't get to be rude and make people worry even more. 

Mister Qui-Gon felt  _ awful _ , all itchy and worried under his skin, until Yoda stomped in and told Mister Dooku to shut up. Well, not shut up exactly, but to stop needling Qui-Gon about lost apprentices, or they'd talk about all the times Dooku 'misplaced' Qui-Gon when he was an apprentice.

Anakin thought maybe the Jedi were really bad at basic child care, except for the Ravens. His mom would like them. Proctor Bendas and Proctor Mairi were pretty clear on how they were supposed to act with each other, and how the Temple worked. He made it to where Obi-Wan felt strongest and peeked into the tea shop's front window. Sure enough, a familiar tuft of ginger hair showed over the last booth top. (Was he going to have to have stupid hair once he was a Padawan? He sure hoped not, since it looked  _ awful _ .) He glanced back at his proctor again, and found the man making himself comfortable on a bench.

"I think your lineage-brother may need to hear some things just from you. I can speak to him once you get him out here."

"Yes, sir. I don't know…"

"Take your time, Anakin. And here," he held out a credit stick. "Have something to eat while you're in there. They make a lovely cold drink with spicy tea and cream that you may enjoy, if you have trouble deciding."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be back." Why anyone thought sending in a kid was a good idea, Anakin would never know. But then, the Jedi were a little weird, even Raven clan.

He squared his shoulders and marched into the shop, making his way straight to Obi-Wan's booth. He found Obi-Wan sitting despondently over a cup of tea, a pastry (which looked like it had something obscene done to it with a fork) next to his elbow. He remembered how Mom sounded whenever someone in the Quarters did something stupid, marched straight up to the table, and smacked his hands down on it.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, do you have any idea how  _ worried _ everyone is?" That felt like a good opening.

Obi-Wan whipped his head up and stared at Anakin.

"How-" he started to ask.

"Don't give me that smacked-Eopie face!" Not quite accurate, but descriptive. "Mister Qui-Gon is about ready to tear up the city looking for you, and so are all the Ravens! You don't  _ do this _ to people who care about you! You don't  _ disappear  _ like you don't matter! It's mean, and rude, and  _ horrible _ , and I hope Mr. Qui-Gon never lets you out of his sight again, because you deserve it!"

That, at least, seemed to have got through to him. Obi-Wan kind of crumpled in on himself, looking  _ awful _ . All dark smudges under his eyes and miserable in the Force.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, mostly to his tea.

"You could maybe tell me that instead of your tea."

"You're spending entirely too much time with the older Ravens, and I'm sorry, Anakin. They shouldn't have sent you after me. It's not your job to look after me." At least that was to his face, and not the table.

"Family helps each other, and I'm nine, not stupid. I could help, so I did, and it seems like you need  _ everyone _ looking after you right now." Anakin didn't quite know where the words came from, but that happened sometimes. Sometimes, he just had to let his mouth say what it would. "Because you have the common sense and self-preservation instincts of a blind sandworm."

Obi-Wan sighed and looked down at the table again. Anakin rolled his eyes, picked up the plate with the pastry, and went to the counter.

"Can I get you something?" The man behind the counter was big, with obvious muscles and tattoos, but a nice smile.

Anakin briefly debated asking if he could order some  _ sense _ for Obi-Wan, and it must have showed on his face. The man chuckled.

"He's been coming in here since he was tiny. Scared off a bunch of private school brats cutting up in here one day, and felt so bad about scaring off business that I started getting all the Temple business. Still doesn't take care of himself, though." During the man's monologue, he'd made a pot of tea and put a few plain-looking biscuits on a plate. "What can I get for you?"

"Someone told me you did something with spiced tea?"

"Take these over to him, and I'll bring something out for you. I'm Mr. Hadri. It's nice to see Temple-folk looking after him."

"I'm Initiate Skywalker...Anakin. Thank you. Um...we try?" Because his mother would never let him hear the end of it if he forgot his manners.

"You're welcome, Initiate Skywalker. Tell him I said to eat, hmm?"

"Yes, Mr. Hadri. I will." He took the plate and marched back to the booth, plunking it down on the table. "Mr. Hadri said to eat. And putting something into your mouth and chewing isn't hard."

He poked Obi-Wan in the shoulder for emphasis.

"I'm sorry, Anakin. I'm poor company today." Obi-Wan tried to slide the plate away, but Anakin took the seat opposite him and slid it back.

"Everyone has bad days." Anakin fixed him with a glare. He feared it wasn't terribly fearsome, as he  _ was _ only nine, but he tried. "And you're  _ family _ . Bad days are okay. You've been picking at your dinner again, when you eat in the refectory, like you did on the ship."

"There are a great many more Jedi in-Temple at the moment. I'm not used to all the noise, I'm afraid."

Which probably meant too much input from the Force. Obi-Wan got terribly tetchy when that happened, everyone said.

"Mostly since Mister Dooku arrived," he pointed out.

Obi-Wan muttered a curse so foul that his mom would have immediately given him a mouthful of  _ jeffret _ root and some time staring at the wall.

"I'm pretty sure Mister Qui-Gon doesn't like that sort of language," he sniffed.

"And neither do I, kid." Mr. Hadri set a fresh cup and pot of tea before Obi-Wan and a tall, frosty glass before Anakin. "Mind your mouth, or I'll be talking to Master Jinn."

"Yes, Mr. Hadri. I'm sorry for my lapse." Obi-Wan bent his head under the scolding and jumped when Mr. Hadri ruffled his hair.

"You're a good boy, Kenobi, just make sure you stay that way."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Mr. Hadri left them again, although Anakin felt him keep watch from the counter. 

"Mom would have stuff to say about that word, too. And  _ jeffret  _ root. She says that rudeness and bad words  _ should _ taste bitter."

"Master Qui-Gon is fond of  _ jeffret _ oil, for much the same reason." Obi-Wan broke off a piece of biscuit.

"Misery: Tatooine's only export, other than criminals." Anakin muttered. "It figures."

"You could export sand to places with beach erosion." Obi-Wan pointed out, breaking his biscuit into smaller pieces.

Anakin snorted. "Are you going to eat that or do horrible stuff to it?"

"I'm not very hungry...and not sleeping well." Obi-Wan admitted it like that was a huge moral failing.

Which, Anakin probably would have felt similarly, if he hadn't spent the past few weeks with a.) Raven clan and b.) Mind Healer Derfen. Trouble sleeping, or with making choices, or having feelings that didn't want to be released into the Force were all  _ normal _ and  _ expected _ parts of being a person. Because people were complicated, and responses were conditioned by life experiences, and you had to learn how to be aware of those sorts of things. And just knowing about options sometimes helped. That, and knowing how he felt was  _ normal _ , and that he needed time to decide how  _ he _ felt about everything.

"Will you be in much trouble, for leaving the Temple? You weren't gone long…"

"It's not the length of time that matters, Anakin, but the action. Even if I wasn't currently restricted, I'd not be allowed to leave without word to anyone. You're right that we don't behave that way, but I seem to be surprising myself on that front almost hourly." The words held a bitter, self-loathing twist.

Anakin kicked Obi-Wan in the shin, hard. Obi-Wan startled, knocking his knee against the table and making his biscuits jump. 

"We don't talk about ourselves like that." Anakin insisted, parroting Derfen. He might not believe it, yet, but she promised that if he kept repeating it, he would believe. "It's a defeatist, inappropriate tone. And we're not allowed to be mean to ourselves."

It was A Rule, and Anakin took comfort in those.

"I'm going to bruise." Obi-Wan glowered at him.

"Better a bruised shin than a bruised sense of self." Anakin sniffed, taking a sip of his drink. Mind Healer Derfen  _ and _ his Proctors were very much against speaking badly of oneself.

His eyes widened in wonder at the taste. Sweet, rich, and tasting like the spice stalls smelled in the markets. It made him a little nervous, and he wondered for a moment if he'd get in trouble for having it. But, no, he wouldn't, because Proctor Ben wouldn't do that. Just like he could have an extra helping if he was still hungry, he wouldn't be in trouble for ordering something suggested to him. He belonged to himself, and he could have nice things. It sounded shaky, even in his head, but he just needed to practice.

"I'm sorry." Obi-Wan finally transferred biscuit to mouth. "I'm not being a very good example right now, am I?"

Yes, because  _ that  _ was the thing to focus on. Anakin rolled his eyes.

"Did I ask for an example? I like Obi-Wan, not 'Obi-Wan being a good example'."

He let Obi-Wan consider that as, wonder of wonders, he actually ate his biscuits. Honestly, what  _ were _ the Jedi doing to people? He didn't think Mom would appreciate it very much. Getting perfectly nice people all anxious...although Obi-Wan hadn't felt so  _ weird _ in the Force  _ before _ he and Mr. Qui-Gon went to the Senate to report on their part of The Naboo Situation.

"You're avoiding my question." He reminded Obi-Wan, but softly.

Obi-Wan sighed, pushing his teacup away.

"Might as well  _ not _ add to it," he muttered. "Yes, Anakin, I'm going to be in quite a bit of trouble. I'll likely be back to being restricted to Master Qui-Gon's sight, and…well, this isn't the first time I left the Temple without permission. I'll probably want to stand at our evening meal."

"Corporal." Anakin muttered it like it was a dirty word.

"Yes, but only because  _ I _ decided that it would work for me. He wouldn't so much as swat if I hadn't agreed. And we discussed it for almost two years beforehand. It's not something either of us takes lightly, Anakin. And you can bet that he will never, ever even consider it for you."

"Why?" Not that he ever wanted to be beaten again, but still. "Because I'm  _ broken _ in some way?"

Obi-Wan snorted. "No, silly. Because it likely wouldn't  _ help _ you, at all. I get...stuck sometimes, and it helps, well, unstick me. Or serves as a reminder...I find a concrete penalty helps me, even now. You have a different personality and different needs. You're a bit more like Feemor, Master Qui-Gon's first Padawan, than me." 

"But, being  _ beaten _ …" he started.

"No, Anakin, not beaten. He's only ever used the flat of his hand on my backside. It's...he's never…" Obi-Wan broke off, flushing. " _ Damn! _ I go over his knee, bare, and he uses the flat of his hand. Never anything more than that."

Anakin stopped to think for a moment.

"Wait, that's  _ it? _ That's…"

"I know." Obi-Wan shifted. "It's supposed to be a deterrent, not torture. We both find that sufficient. It's...more is  _ allowed _ under the Code, but he's never felt the need for that. He's still one of the strictest Masters of the Order, but I generally obey him because I  _ want _ to, not because he'll beat me to make me."

"Hnh." Anakin finished his drink, thinking. "We should probably get back."

"We should." Obi-Wan agreed, sliding out of the booth and holding a hand out to Anakin.

"I'm not going to get lost between here and the door, Obi-Wan." Anakin groaned. Why did everyone think he was  _ stupid _ enough to wander away?

"Then hold my hand to make  _ me _ feel better. I'm marching to my doom, you know." Obi-Wan crooked a weak smile at him.

Anakin grudgingly took his hand.

"Oh, all  _ right _ , but only because you'll try to sulk at me and look dumb if I don't."

Obi-Wan snickered.

"And because Proctor Ben wants to talk to you on the way back." Anakin added serenely, feeling slightly vindicated at the hitch in Obi-Wan's stride.

"Really?" He asked, weakly.

"Mm-hmm." Anakin grinned up at him. "Something about a flea in your ear...but that sounds  _ gross _ …"

 

At Obi-Wan's forlorn groan, Anakin thought he was getting the hang of being a younger lineage brother.


	4. Can I Please Go Back to Being Sensible?

Instead of issuing a ringing scolding, Ben stood waiting to pull Obi-Wan into a hug. Obi-Wan let him, turning his face to rest against the older man's shoulder for a moment.

"Let's get you back to Qui-Gon, hmm?"

"Can I please get back to being  _ sensible _ ?" Obi-Wan sighed.

"I'm sure you and your Master would appreciate that." Ben rested his chin on Obi-Wan's head briefly. "Come on, let's get you back. Anakin, my hand, please."

Obi-Wan found himself tucked under Ben's arm with Anakin holding the man's other hand, although he seemed rather put out by it. Ben took no notice of Anakin's grumping, but led them back to the Temple. It wasn't a long walk, which Obi-Wan hoped would go in his favor. No-one had to check the spaceports this time. His stomach clenched on nerves, though.

"It'll be all right, Obi-Wan," Ben tightened his hold for a moment.

"Eventually, Ben, I hope." Obi-Wan replied, but took comfort from his friend.

"That's the spirit."

Anakin sighed, loudly, and strayed as far as he could. Obi-Wan saw Ben's mouth quirk into a grin as he tugged he little boy back.

"Past someone's rest period." Ben murmured, mostly to Obi-Wan.

"Proctor Ben!" Anakin hissed.

"I could be talking about Obi-Wan, you know."

Anakin subsided into a pronounced sulk. Thankfully, they had reached the entrance hall. Obi-Wan winced at the sheer volume of the open space. Jedi weren't noisy, exactly, but when you had that many people occupying the same space...it felt like too much.

"Ben!" 

Obi-Wan recognized that voice. He really wished he had his hood up as Feemor advanced on them, big and blond and perfect and not at all ever any trouble.

"And Obi-Wan? What are…"

"Anakin and I were seeing Obi-Wan back to Master Jinn, but if you're going that way?"

"I was just on my way." Feemor clasped wrists with Ben, bowed to Anakin, and then pulled Obi-Wan into his arms. "Whatever is amiss, little brother?"

Obi-Wan felt his face heat at the endearment, especially at the glimmer of amusement coming from Anakin.

"We retrieved Obi-Wan from Mr. Hadri's just a few minutes ago." Ben explained. "Master Jinn was quite concerned over his absence."

"Ah," Feemor replied, getting a better hold on Obi-Wan, who was trying to discreetly slip his embrace. "I think I'll just get him back, then. Master Qui-Gon is likely quite worried."

"Thank you. I didn't want to send Anakin off on his own, and it's a rest period."

"Proctor Ben!" Anakin whined, but quietly, somehow drawing his Proctor's name out into several syllables.

"Anakin," Ben echoed the whine, poking Anakin in the shoulder. "There's no shame in having a rest. In any case, we also need to tell Proctor Mai that we'll be making those dishes from Tatooine that you told us about. You'll need to rest if you're to help with the shopping."

"Really?" Anakin bounced on his toes.

"Yes, child, really. But, you must rest if you're to help. Say goodbye to Obi-Wan." He may have been spoiling Anakin a bit, but the boy had been quite brave about trying new things over the past month or so.

"'Bye, Obi-Wan. Um, 'bye Knight Feemor." Anakin managed a bow without prompting.

"Goodbye to you, too, Initiate Skywalker." Feemor shifted Obi-Wan about so he could return the bow. "I look forward to making your acquaintance at a more opportune time."

"Thank you, sir." Anakin beamed at him. "See you later, Obi-Wan?"

"Of course, Anakin. Thank you for your company this afternoon." Obi-Wan answered as Feemor tucked him under his arm.

"Welcome!" Anakin chirped back. "Um, have a better afternoon?"

"I'll try."

"Come Anakin." Ben tugged at his wrist. "May the Force be with both of you," he added wryly as he led Anakin from the entrance hall.

"Oh, very funny." Obi-Wan muttered.

"Hmm," Feemor led Obi-Wan to the first small alcove he could find and turned Obi-Wan to face him. "You look...peaky, Obi-Wan."

"I'm perfectly fine, Fee, really."

"Yes, and if I hadn't heard some form of that from you for the last twelve years, including the time you were bleeding from a gut wound, I might believe you." Feemor cupped Obi-Wan's cheek.

"That was a scratch." Obi-Wan huffed. "I'm just not sleeping very well."

And he hadn't, not since he returned to his own bed.

"We'll see what our Master has to say to that, bratling." Feemor gentled his tone, but Obi-wan winced anyway.

"I really don't think…" Obi-Wan squirmed in Feemor's grip, giving him the most appealing look he could muster.

"I don't think so, little brother. I'll help you explain, if you need me to, but you're going home, right now. And so help me, Obi-Wan, if you try to wheedle your way out of this or try to give me the slip, I'll not care who sees me spanking your bare backside. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Feemor. I understand." Obi-Wan muttered with ill grace.

"Good. Let us be off, then."

But instead of marching him home in disgrace, Feemor slung a strong arm around his shoulders and led him gently from the alcove. Obi-Wan took comfort in his lineage brother's closeness, and in still being the smaller of the two. Feemor was built along the same lines as their Master in height, but along much broader lines in width. As he always had, he felt steady to Obi-Wan. A comforting, stable force in an increasingly unstable galaxy. He knew no ill would befall him while he was under Feemor's authority. At least, not until Feemor handed him over to their Master. Then, a whole pile of ill would tumble straight down on top of him.

All too soon, though, they reached their Master's quarters. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment before palming the door open. Qui-Gon waited patiently, hands folded in his sleeves. Feemor prodded Obi-Wan in the back, getting him to move into the living room. He heard the door slide shut behind him, as he shifted from foot to foot before his Master. Feemor slipped past the two of them, stopping only long enough to clap Qui-Gon on the shoulder, on his way to make tea.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed and folded him into a hug.

Obi-Wan clung to his Master, and squeaked when he suddenly spun to the side.

"Mast- _ er _ !" His voice cracked up into an octave he'd thought long-closed to him as Qui-Gon swatted him hard across his backside. Several times. "Ow!"

He found himself back in his Master's embrace just as quickly.

"You may consider that a promise, young one." Qui-Gon spoke sternly.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan murmured, repressing the urge to rub his stinging bottom.

"I have been worried out of my mind, my apprentice. You'll not be out of my sight again, until I say otherwise. Clearly, you were  _ not _ ready for the responsibility of it. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured again, nestling close to Qui-Gon.

"Good. If we must repeat this conversation again, you will not care for the consequences."

"We won't, Master, I swear it. I...I didn't  _ mean _ to leave this afternoon. I only meant to go to the Archives for an hour, to let you and Grandmaster Dooku visit, and I don't quite know what happened! I felt I  _ had _ to go out...only I realized at Mr. Hadri's that I didn't want to go any further, even though  _ something _ wanted me to. It didn't feel...safe? I suppose."

Or, thought Qui-Gon, whatever it was hadn't counted on Obi-Wan's attachment to the Unifying Force.

"Obi-Wan, I need to to let me in, right now. I need to see  _ you _ ." Qui-Gon tried not to spook his sensitive boy.

"Master?"

Too late for that, apparently.

"Lower your shields for me, child. Let me see that you're fine."

Obi-Wan did as he was told, for once without discussion, and blazed into Qui-Gon's consciousness like a beacon. In the Force, unshielded, Obi-Wan shone like a sun. Qui-Gon took a moment to marvel at it, the strength of his precious child, the pure, blazing heart of him.

But there, spreading like a foul, infectious web, Darkness seeped around the edges of his shielding. His poor boy's shields felt battered and bruised, tainted by the Dark webbing its way over them. 

Someone had tried to bash their way through Obi-Wan's shields.

Someone had tried to  _ hurt _ his child.

Someone had tried to  _ take _ Obi-Wan from them.

Qui-Gon tamped down on his fury. Either someone (three guesses as to who, and the first two didn't count) wanted Obi-Wan, or they wanted  _ him _ angry enough to be susceptible to the Dark side. He breathed slowly, releasing his anger to the Force. With such a bare connection to Obi-Wan, he didn't want to distress his boy with his anger. He eased back, helping Obi-Wan to shore up his shielding as he withdrew.

"Master?" Obi-Wan pressed a hand to his cheek. "Is everything alright?"

"I think we may need to consult with your Healers, Obi-Wan. Physically, you seem fine, although exhausted yet again. Would you care to explain yourself?" He kept his tone mild, but Obi-Wan winced and gulped just the same.

"I, perhaps, have had some trouble sleeping?" Obi-Wan dropped his chin and looked up at his Master through his eyelashes. Sometimes looking winsome helped.

"And thought you didn't need to mention anything about it?" Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, noting the faint dark smudging under Obi-Wan's eyes.

Obi-Wan sighed as Qui-Gon produced a handkerchief, spat on it, and rubbed it on his face. His Master made a show of checking for makeup smudges on the cloth.

"I suppose, little boy, I ought to be grateful you haven't tried concealer again."

Obi-Wan winced at the memory.

"It was only a few nights, Master, really."

"A few nights that you certainly cannot sacrifice. You'll return to my room until I'm certain you'll sleep properly on your own." Qui-Gon tried to keep his tone gentle in deference to Obi-Wan's rather sensitive feelings on being treated like a youngling still.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan felt his face heat at the censure, especially in front of Feemor. To not be trusted to sleep in his own room! Again!

"Um…" 

Master and Apprentice startled at that, and turned to Feemor, who had eased around them again to stand by the door.

"There's tea made for the both of you. Master, should I go find Lex and 'Khet?" Feemor forced his tone into neutrality. Poor Obi-Wan wouldn't appreciate any amusement at the situation.

"Yes, Feemor, please do. If Archivist Mintaerael is with them, please bring her as well." Qui-Gon kept Obi-Wan close to his side, despite his attempts to wriggle free.

"That will mean Mirael as well, Master, at least." Obi-Wan reminded him.

"I'm well-aware that she travels with a pack, young one. He may be of assistance here."

"Shall I be back in an hour, Master?" Feemor asked carefully, not looking at Obi-Wan.

"That should give us enough time. Thank you, Feemor."

They both ignored Obi-Wan's flushed cheeks and muttered complaint.

"Master, Obi-Wan." Feemor bowed as he straightened his robes. He let himself out, hoping he didn't look as if he fled the scene. He did  _ not _ envy his little brother the next quarter of an hour or so


	5. Called to Account

As soon as the door swished shut behind Feemor, Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan and fixed him with a stern look.

"I think we'll use your room for this, child. I want you in your night clothes after, as I don't think you'll be up to much this evening."

"Master, now?" Obi-Wan balked at his Master's prodding him toward his room. "There will be  _ Healers  _ here within the hour!"

"And no one will be looking at your backside, Obi-Wan. Honestly, if you could sit down without squirming this evening, I'd likely have several people asking if they could do the honors. We were  _ all _ worried over your disappearance."

Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan about the shoulders and propelled him in the correct direction. Once through the door to Obi-Wan's room, he wasted no time in switching his grip to the young man's wrist and towing him to the bed. Obi-Wan, for his part, tried not to squirm too much as Qui-Gon sat on the bed and pulled him closer.

"Master, the last time...you said you'd use your hairbrush if I left without leave again." His voice quavered only slightly.

"And I was wrong to say so, Obi-Wan. I promised you once that I would only ever use the flat of my hand on your bottom. I will not break my word, no matter what I might say when vexed." With that said, his Master whisked his trousers and underthings down to his ankles and settled him gently over his lap.

Obi-Wan shifted and groaned when his trousers slipped off his ankles to puddle under his feet. They were soon joined by his underwear. He tapped his toes against the clothing; he  _ loathed _ being so bare. Even trousers at his knees gave the illusion of a covering.

"Don't fret, young one, you won't be needing them again today." Qui-Gon flipped the back of his tunic up, baring him to his Master's discipline.

"That's hardly comforting!" He tapped at the floor again in pique, but all that got him was shifted further forward so Qui-Gon could trap both his legs under one of his Master's.

"We both know you're over my knee to answer for leaving the Temple without permission, yes? I would know, though, do you think you could have ignored the compulsion to leave?"

Obi-Wan sighed. To have to further incriminate himself while his Master's hand rested on his backside. 

"I think so, Master. I didn't even try until I got to Mr. Hadri's." He answered truthfully, regretting it the instant the first hard smack fell. "Ow! Master!"

Qui-Gon didn't answer with words, but with a steady rain of smacks. He never again wished to experience the heart-shattering terror of realizing that his beloved apprentice, his child, had left without word to anyone. Again. Obi-Wan twisted over his lap, squeaking at the growing sting. His bottom pinked quickly under the steady fall of Qui-Gon's hand.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but wriggle as the sting increased exponentially with each firm smack. He'd expected to receive a thorough paddling, indeed, and even without a hairbrush, Qui-Gon managed. He felt the steady, rising pressure in his chest that foretold weeping, and cursed himself for being so weak. He never meant to cry. He wanted to bear the discipline stoically, as an adult should. Instead, he always found himself wailing promises of better behavior. He could bear life-threatening injury with hardly even a wince, but bare and upended over his Master's knee and he squalled like an infant.

"Master! Please! I won't do it again, I swear!" The plea fell from his lips without much input from his brain.

"No, little one, you won't. You'll not have a chance to wander off, in any case, as you're restricted to my side until I decide otherwise. And you can bet that it will last much longer than a month this time. I gave you my trust, Obi-Wan, and you did exactly what I forbid. While there was some outside chicanery, you admitted that you could have resisted the call, but chose not to. That is not a choice that reflects well upon your state right now, child."

The first sob ripped from his throat at his Master's words. Each smack laid down on his blazing bottom forced him to give in to the tears that threatened. The first trickled down his face as he rested his cheek against the bedspread, not trying to hide for once. And the worst of it? He heard no condemnation in his Master's voice. He had behaved so poorly, but his Master still spoke to him with care. He gave up his pride and any notion of enduring stoically and wept.

"M'sorry Master! Truly!" His voice sounded slurred even to his ears, and Qui-Gon seemed to take it as a cue to rearrange him, jack-knifing him over one thigh and pausing with his hand resting on Obi-Wan's blazing backside.

"I ought to spank your bottom every night until further notice, young one, but I believe this will suffice. You are, however, going to continue to be on some extremely thin ice with me. I will tolerate no misbehavior."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan's hopes for an end to his discipline were dashed when Qui-Gon started again.

Apparently, his Master meant for this to be a truly memorable spanking, for he concentrated all his efforts on smacking Obi-Wan right where he sat. Where he'd feel it, possibly for days, although he hadn't ever spanked quite  _ that _ hard before. Obi-Wan wailed at the blaze ignited across his cheeks. He didn't bother to promise good behavior; Qui-Gon could feel his remorse across their bond, and he needed all his breath to cry. Stress and worry melted away, chased off by his Master's strong, calloused palm. Finally, finally, Obi-Wan felt the last, hardest smacks across his seat and went absolutely limp under Qui-Gon's hand. 

His Master rubbed a strong hand over his back, finally soothing instead of disciplining. Obi-Wan allowed himself to weep, gave in to the need as he hadn't before, even at prior spankings. He felt himself lifted, turned, and cuddled against Qui-Gon's chest, his Master's voice rumbling through him in a soothing litany. Still, he sobbed, turning his face into Qui-Gon's tunic and drenching the fabric with his tears. He lost track of time, held safe and secure on Qui-Gon's lap, until his tears slowed to hiccups and his face felt stiff with salt.

"You've been holding back on me, my little one." Qui-Gon ran a hand over Obi-Wan's soft hair and cuddled him closer.

"Not the little one, not anymore." Obi-Wan coughed a bit as he answered.

"You'll always be my little one." Qui-Gon wrapped his boy in a firm hug. "Anakin would likely eat my face off if I called him that."

Obi-Wan snorted, and his breath caught in his chest again.

"Why don't we get your face washed, hmm? You'll feel a little better with some cold water on your eyes."

Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon stood with no apparent problem, and toted him toward the 'fresher.

"Master! I'm not a Creche-ling!"

"Having had to walk with a backside as hot as yours, Obi-Wan, I thought it kinder to spare you that experience."

Qui-Gon continued as if he hadn't heard Obi-Wan's objections, gathering sleep clothes as he went.

"Master Dooku preferred one of the allowed paddles, and he wasn't always careful about bruises. I'd rather you didn't have to experience more discomfort this evening."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan sighed, and looked on it as a lesson in obedience. It was only for a few steps, anyway. And no one would know. Hopefully. He had enough Knights treating him like a child as it was. 


	6. Creche-ling Words and Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but everyone's been so patient, and has left lovely comments. The next bit will be quite a lot longer.
> 
> He felt...small. Not diminished or demeaned or anything like that, but safely small. Like he could simply stand still and let his Master tend to him...

Obi-Wan stood quietly, leaning slightly against the counter, as Qui-Gon wrung out a washcloth in the sink. He felt...small. Not diminished or demeaned or anything like that, but safely small. Like he could simply stand still and let his Master tend to him, and not have to assert his adulthood or independence or anything like that. Qui-Gon wiped the cool cloth over his face, gently cleansing away the evidence of his weeping fit. He felt so blessedly safe with his Master that he didn't let loose with even a bit of sass when Qui-Gon stripped his tunic off to help him freshen up.

A wash at the sink,  _ being _ washed at the sink, wasn't exactly dignified, but he felt too calm to protest. He soon found himself helped into his softest pajamas, anyway. Qui-Gon wrung out the washcloth and hung it to dry before he led Obi-Wan out to the lounge. Obi-Wan waited by his Master's chair, content to stand quietly while Qui-Gon poured a mug of fragrant herbal tea from the pot Feemor brewed for them. The whole afternoon took on a muted air, quiet and calm and wonderful. Obi-Wan felt exhaustion creeping up on him, and he sighed happily when Qui-Gon returned to sit and pull Obi-Wan into his lap.

Obi-Wan curled into his Master's warmth, resting his head so he could hear the steady drum of Qui-Gon's heart.

"Better?" Qui-Gon asked quietly. 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan murmured, accepting a sip of tea when Qui-Gon held the mug to his lips.

Sharing one mug between the two of them felt as safely intimate as letting Qui-Gon tidy him up in the 'fresher. Not  _ sexually _ intimate, but emotionally so. He could trust Qui-Gon with his safety, both bodily and emotionally. And really, after the third or fourth bout of some hideous stomach virus caught on a mission, one tended to lose the concepts of shyness and modesty. Clean trumped just about anything.

"Master?"

"Hmm, my dear one?"

Obi-Wan ducked his head more, flushing at the endearment, a little worried that in a moment he would  _ not _ be dear to anyone, because he'd be fertilizing one of the gardens.

"I may not have completely confessed myself to you, earlier."

"What further bother could you have found yourself in, little spark?"

"Bother entirely of my own making." He stopped to take a deep breath and remind himself that he'd promised Minty. "I haven't been eating properly, I had two pots of tea today at Mr. Hadri's, and um...instead of resting when you go to have tea with Master Dooku, I've been going to the salles. I haven't used my 'saber, but I've been doing stave work. And I perhaps used some inappropriate language in front of Anakin today."

Qui-Gon rested his chin atop Obi-Wan's head.

"That's quite an impressive collection of naughtiness, my very young apprentice."

"I'm sorry, Master. I...I've shamed you with my ill-considered actions and wretched behavior." Obi-Wan thought it a lovely apology.

Qui-Gon snorted.

"You were thoroughly naughty, Obi-Wan, but this is hardly a crisis calling for a formal apology. And listen well, little one, you will  _ never _ shame me. Most of what you confessed to me is minor naughtiness, and easily handled. I may be partly at fault for your…"

"No! Master, no! I made my own choices!" Obi-Wan interrupted hotly.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, mind your manners and your tone." Qui-Gon scolded, aiming a swat at Obi-Wan's bottom.

Obi-Wan yelped, but quieted down.

"As I was saying, my little light, I haven't given you as much attention as you clearly needed over the past three weeks, so you did something to get my attention, hmm?"

Obi-Wan squirmed, and not just from the stinging swat. He simultaneously loathed and loved Qui-Gon speaking to him in such a manner, especially when he still felt fuzzy and calm after being disciplined. The creche-ling endearments gave him the same feeling --warm and safe, but also a little embarrassed.

"Yes, Master," he answered quietly.

"Not eating, more tea than you're currently allowed, and some bad language are not indicative of any major character defect, my sensitive boy. You'll have a bit of a spanking this evening, and some time spent considering your language choices in the corner after a dose of  _ jeffret _ oil." Qui-Gon kept his voice calm, pushing his love for Obi-Wan through their bond.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed deeply, but he'd expected that response. Discipline came in many forms, but his Master always answered childish behavior with discipline appropriate for a child.

"And how many times did you go to the salles instead of having a nap?"

"Four, Master." Obi-Wan winced as he answered.

"Then you'll be spanked every other night for the next seven-day. This is not the first time we've dealt with this issue, young one. When you have need of my attention, Obi-Wan, what is your responsibility?"

"To tell you," Obi-Wan sighed, expressing equal parts dismay and relief. "Because you're not omniscient, and I'm old enough to let you know what I need."

"That being said," Qui-Gon paused for a moment to give Obi-Wan more tea. "I should have been watching you more carefully, and I'm sorry I let myself get distracted, dear one. I did you a disservice when you needed me most."

"I'm not your only responsibility, Master. You do owe Master Dooku some of your time."

"He's not my Apprentice, and he's certainly not helping either of us right now. Although, he  _ is _ rather fond of you, you know. He doesn't express it, but he approves of your manners." Qui-Gon smoothed his hand down Obi-Wan's back, still soothing his boy.

"He was rude about Anakin," Obi-Wan grumbled, curling into the caress.

"Yes, and Feemor arranged for you to pitch a cup of tea right into his lap for that," Qui-Gon couldn't help but let himself smile at that.

"I  _ did _ apologize," Obi-Wan tried not to snicker, but failed miserably. "Profusel--  _ stars _ what  _ is _ that?"


	7. Darkness Not Rising

A localized disturbance in the Force grew closer and closer, a radiating maelstrom of irritation and mortification. Obi-Wan slipped off Qui-Gon's lap to pad over to the door just as the chime sounded, his Master following close behind. He found himself tucked behind Qui-Gon so he could open the door, leaving Obi-Wan protected.

The door slid open at Qui-Gon's command, revealing Feemor, both Healers, and Mirael with Mintaerael tucked under his arm. She seemed to be the disturbance, as it abruptly ceased when she noticed Obi-Wan's alarm. She slipped out from under her brother's arm and stalked in, sketching a quick bow at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan followed her to the kitchen, and watched as she set a box and a couple of bags down, sharply, before she stalked over to the lounge wall and settled down next to the sofa, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back to the wall, a huddle of robes and righteous indignation. She breathed deeply, and Obi-Wan felt the swirl of negative emotion around her ease before it dissipated for good. He settled down next to her, ignoring the pointed look at an actual chair from Qui-Gon.

"I'm sorry, Master, we found her like that outside the Council chambers. She was rather...distraught." Feemor explained, shrugging out of his robe and heeling off his boots.

"Feemor, you'll take the polish right off them," Qui-Gon scolded mildly. "It's probably better she wasn't wandering around like that. Get yourselves in and your robes and boots off. Healer Mehr'khet, Healer Arkane, I'd like to speak with you for a moment."

"If Obi-Wan is suffering from the same...interference as the junior Archivists, then we know what to do." Mintaerael spoke up from the floor, never moving or opening her eyes.

"Were his shields in tatters?" Lexit asked, taking a seat on the sofa. Qui-Gon _was_ always a touch awkward with them, like he wasn't sure if he should treat them like competent adults or like Obi-Wan (who, truth be told, could probably smoke any of them in the being a competent adult stakes). She let her arm trail down so she could run her fingers through Mint's hair.

"They looked battered, but not destroyed. This happened before?" Qui-Gon took a seat in his chair before anyone else could try to claim it. An attachment, yes, but it was one of the few chairs that actually fit him. And Feemor had already snagged the chair Obi-Wan usually curled up in.

"Three last week, all just back from helping out in the Senate archives. With Obi-Wan now attacked as well, we're pulling all Jedi out of the Senate," Mehr'khet sat next to Lexit.

"Is that what the Council wanted to talk about?" Mirael sat across from his sister on the floor, their knees almost touching.

"Oh, no, it was completely unrelated, and we'll discuss it after we help Obi-Wan. Are you ready?" Mintaerael opened her eyes.

"I suppose, but wouldn't the Deep Stacks be better?"

"Mmm, not tonight. She wants Obi-Wan comfortable, and it's going to start looking weird if a whole group of us keeps trooping downstairs regularly."

"She?" Qui-Gon felt something skitter up his spine at Mintaerael's casual tone. "Who is she?"

"The Temple. Obi-Wan, have you not explained this to your Master?" She turned a disapproving Look on him.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to explain, but squeaked instead as Mirael pulled him into his lap and tucked him close.

"Da'minae, knock it off with that face and explain," Mirael scolded.

"The Temple, after so long housing Force users, is, for lack of a better word, semi-sentient."

The lights flickered.

"Sorry, sentient," Mintaerael corrected herself.

The lights stopped flickering.

"And since she loves her Obi-Wan, and she wants him comfortable, then she'll...facilitate for us."

"Facilitate?" Qui-Gon pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on as certain things slotted into place. Like the week he'd been unable to have a hot shower or a decent cup of tea after he disciplined Obi-Wan and put him to bed without offering the usual comfort.

"It's easier to channel through her in the lower levels. She'll help us clear out the Dark, for lack of a better explanation. She _really_ doesn't like that. She'll help us shore up his shield a bit, as well, heal the hurt places."

The explanation, while reasonable, left him feeling unsettled.

"Does the Council know?"

"I would imagine? It's not like she's shy," Mintaerael shrugged. "And it's their own fault if they've never slowed down long enough to connect properly."

"And Miri and Mints have done this three times already, in any case. Lex and I are here just in case."

"In case of _what_?" Qui-Gon looked down at Obi-Wan, who had curled himself up in Mirael's lap, practically purring as Mirael rubbed his back and brushed his fingers through his hair. Mirael looked equally blissful.

"A bad reaction," Lex explained. "Although we were quite handy in relaxing Junior Archivist Aylis enough that he stopped trying to expire from the sheer humiliation of having to sit in his superior's brother's lap in front of her."

"He wound up completely looped." Mintaerael finally batted at Lex's hand. "You'll mess it up. Now, is everyone ready? Things will be a little, um, weird for a few minutes. Weird and intense."

"Weird and intense, the title of your-" Mirael grinned wickedly at his sister.

"One more word, and I'll disown you, tha'mirae." Mintaerael smacked him on the knee. "Whatever happens, Master Jinn, _please_ don't interrupt. Obi-Wan is incredibly strong, so I don't imagine we'll have much trouble with him."

With that, Mirael settled Obi-Wan firmly in his lap and scooted forward to sit knee-to-knee with Mintaerael. They extended their hands, Mirael's palms up and Mintaerael's palms down and hovering just over his. They matched their breathing, slow and deep, and Mintaerael set her back flat to the wall. A glow started between their hands, slowly spreading up their arms and then down to cocoon Obi-Wan. The Force grew thick in the room, just as it was in the deepest reaches of the Temple. The air pressure in the room rose as well, setting their ears popping, as the light surrounding Obi-Wan intensified.

Qui-Gon kept to his seat, but reached for Obi-Wan in the Force and found himself welcomed, both by Obi-Wan and by the Force. The Temple? He'd felt it before, the warm, soothing rush of _HOME_ and _SAFE_. When he was a child in the Creche and afraid of the dark, when he was an Initiate worried that he would never be taken as a Padawan (too big, too much feeling, too many pathetic lifeforms), after his first mission when he was finally alone in quarters that felt too empty, after Xanatos fell, nights when he sat up with a sick Padawan (Feemor, Obi-Wan) and fretted over a fever (or fretted more over the gastrointestinal 'flus Temple children picked up off-planet). She had always been there, soothing, calming, making sure Her Jedi were warm and safe and well.

The enormity of it (the Order lived in a sentient beacon of the Force?) hit him, hard, but the _contentment_ he felt rolling off Obi-Wan kept some extremely un-Jedi-like panic at bay. His beloved apprentice felt so entirely safe and secure (although perhaps a touch aggrieved that he wasn't in his Master's lap) that he couldn't let his own feelings overpower him. He breathed in, held it for a moment, and then let overwhelmed out with his breath. He knew, bone deep, that they were safe. That they would always be as safe as She could keep them. That knowledge let him release his roiling uncertainty to the Force and reclaim his calm.

He watched the glow around Mintaerael and Mirael fade slowly, the pressure in the room fading at the same time. Mirael dropped his arms, followed a moment later by Mintaerael, who sagged back against the wall.

"This is where we come in." Mehr'khet rose, followed by Lexit, and went to the three on the floor. Mehr'khet went to Mintaerael, checking her pulse before scooping her up off the floor.

Qui-Gon watched Lexit do the same with both Obi-Wan and Mirael, although she left them where they were and headed back to curl up on the sofa with Mehr'khet and Mintaerael. Mirael stood slowly, Obi-Wan in his arms. He shook his legs out before he turned to deposit Obi-Wan in Qui-Gon's lap.

"He and Mints went pretty far down, so it'll take them longer to come back completely," he explained, stretching his arms over his head.

"What exactly happened?" Qui-Gon resituated Obi-Wan, tucking him close. Obi-Wan assisted sluggishly, tucking his head firmly under his chin,and making himself as small as possible in his lap.

"Minty, for lack of a better explanation, opens herself up in the Force and works as a conduit for the Temple. I act as an anchor point, so She can use the two of use to create- you know, I have no idea what it looks like."

"A glowing cocoon. It was...peaceful. Obi-Wan felt calm and content through all of it." Qui-Gon rubbed Obi-Wan's back, and felt his apprentice go ever more boneless in his lap.

"He trus's us." Mintaerael slurred. "Truss...trusts us. Makes it easier. Have to have a solid foundation, or it goes all wonky. Madame Nu is not happy about the state of the fourth subbasement Stacks store room." Mintaerael slid off Mehr'khet's lap to sit cross-legged on the floor. "That was _much_ easier than any of the others. He wasn't under much of a compulsion, was he?"

"Fought i' t'off," Obi-Wan struggled into consciousness. "Wasn' hard. Mas'r?"

"Shh, Obi-Wan, I'm here with you," Qui-Gon soothed. "Take your time, young one."

"I usually wouldn't, because it's rude, but I'm commandeering your kitchen and making dinner. I don't know that any of us are in any state to face the refectory." Mintaerael levered herself up as she spoke and finally slipped out of her robe to hang it up. "I know the noise level alone would send me packing tonight."

Obi-Wan came out of the comfortable, half-meditative state he'd floated in and nearly cracked his head off Qui-Gon's chin at Mirael's gasp.

" _Mintaerael_. Da'minae...tha'danael-etha. When?"

"Twelve years ago, tha'mirae. But _he's_ gone, now. Tha'Mirdanael commed me. _He's_ dead. I can wear them, now, with pride. I can leave the Temple, _Minithael_ can leave the Temple," Mintaerael laughed a bit as Mirael grabbed her arm to have a closer look at the delicate tattooed filigree that ran up the outside of her arm. They matched the color of her dress, a deep, iridescent blue-green, and caught the light as she let Mirael examine them.

"They signify that I passed the Heldanael version of one's Trials. Would I ever return to Court, I'd be the senior Mintaerael and a teacher: Tha'danael Mintaerael." Mintaerael explained, catching Qui-Gon's confused look.

"The senior…" Qui-Gon trailed off.

"Or names are more title than name, Master Jinn. Min for female, taer for...I suppose folk story is the closest approximation, and ael to signify the Court troupe. _This_ is my name." She started the sign, hands at hip level. Thumbs extended with the left over the right, fingers curved, she twisted her hands up to chest level, ending in a formation Creche-lings used to make shadow butterflies, and extended her fingers. "It doesn't really translate, though, and I was too small when we were brought to the Temple to differentiate between who I am and what I am."

She spun around, then, effectively ending that line of conversation, to show off the plunging back of her dress and the same tattooed design following her spine, branching off to her shoulders at the nape of her neck before disappearing up the back of her neck and into her hairline. Obi-Wan realized that it was the first time he'd ever seen her without the full-length, high-necked bodyglove she'd always worn under her clothing.

"You were outside the Council chambers when Fee found you, right?" he asked.

"Yes, which is the other story for the night," Mintaerael shrugged off her brother and hung up her robe before she made her way into the kitchen.

"Did any of them see the back of what you're wearing?"

Jedi generally dressed according to fairly strict modesty standards, even when wearing culturally traditional clothing under a robe. Beside being entirely sleeveless, the back of her dress would have given Master Windu fits. Qui-Gon got written up enough for not properly wearing all the required layers.

Mintaerael snorted as she sorted through the bags she'd brought, "No, dear heart, I had my robe on over it. I was looking for Miri when I got yanked into chambers."

"And in any case," Mirael butted in, "what she's wearing is completely traditional. Twelve years late, but traditional. And, I'm not telling Minael about this. That one's on you."

"Of course it is," she muttered. "Master Jinn, could Obi-Wan help in the kitchen?" She'd already stowed several containers in the refrigeration unit, and had a small army of vegetables sitting on the counter.

"Master, may I?" Technically, the kitchen, while open to the rest of the room, wasn't exactly in Qui-Gon's sight. He appreciated that she'd thought to ask his Master instead of him, given the amount of trouble he'd found for himself. It wasn't _necessary_ , really, but it showed a respect for their rules that he knew Qui-Gon appreciated.

"Go on, but go slowly, hmm? You still look exhausted." Qui-Gon patted his cheek gently before letting him up.

"Yes, Master, I'll be careful." Obi-Wan escaped to the relative safety of Mintaerael's company.

He heard Feemor ask something, his voice pitched low, and had the distinct impression that "the adults" were waiting for him to be safely out of earshot with Minty, never mind that she'd passed her thirtieth Life Day. Honestly, one day someone would notice that they'd both grown up, before Mints had to 'saber someone in the face.

Being part of the Order was so _weird_ sometimes. They'd send teenagers into war zones, but stars forfend they not be overprotected while in Temple. Although, that could simply be the people who cared about them trying to make up for the Council's inexplicable decisions on age-appropriateness. Despite all he'd seen, Qui-Gon still did his best to shelter him when he could.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Chop these, please," she handed over the green summer squash he loved. "About two centimeters long and a half wide."

He took a second look at the counter, which held all his favorites.

"You know, I haven't done anything to warrant being spoiled like this," he pointed out as he chopped.

"I'm not spoiling you, you ridiculous brat; I'm trying to get calories into you, since you insist on skipping meals." She leveled her own knife at him, one eyebrow raised. "I at least know you'll eat what I'm making."

"Of course I will!" His protest fell rather flat at her unimpressed glare. "I always eat when we're not in the refectory. Fine, I usually eat. I could give you the same look right now, you know. I can see all your vertebrae."

"I've been on my last fuel cell for a while, dove. We're a bit busy with all the new regs come through. You wouldn't believe how many Jedi suddenly find the Archives to try to refute the changes who never set foot in them from the time they passed their Trials." Her hands moved deftly as she spoke, dicing onions without her even looking.

"I could probably help, if you need extra hands?" He got busy with the squash. The concentration needed helped to ground him.

"If you're allowed out of Master Jinn's sight any time soon?" She quirked a grin at him. "Although, if I went missing as often as you do, I have a feeling 'Khet and Lex would plant trackers on me."

"I haven't done anything like this in years! Honestly, I have no _idea_ what's come over me."

"Because you haven't done anything like this in years, love. Most of us sprinkle a bit of bad behavior and general naughtiness through our lives on the regular. You like to save it up for a really fantastic blowout every so often. Unless Quinlan is involved, in which case the two of you get yourselves into hot water as often as possible."

"Can you please never say naughty again?" Obi-Wan sighed. "Master keeps using it, and it's awful."

"Awful awful, or comforting awful?"

"The latter, and I don't know why you have to ask horrible questions like that. Ugh, honestly, I feel like I'm about six every time he says it."

"More like a very rebellious fifteen, really. Maybe thirteen on a bad day." She tweaked his braid and grinned at him.

"I loathe you, you know." But his answering grin took the sting out of his sulky reply.

"So you've said. Are you done there?"

"I think so," he handed over the cutting board and took the fresh one she held out. "Sliced?"

"The mushrooms? Yes, please." Mintaerael turned to the cooktop and set up a frying pan, swirling oil into it and adjusting the temperature.

Obi-Wan watched her for a moment, arranging ingredients by cooking time and pulling a container of the crispy bean curd he favored out of the fridge, before he turned back to the pile of mushrooms. He wasn't sure if she expected anyone else to show up for dinner, or if she simply overestimated everyone's appetites. Or, given that he felt like he hadn't eaten in _years_ , she perhaps knew what she was doing. And he wasn't about to ask since he thought he saw a container of his favorite trifle, as well. Mintaerael would withhold dessert if she was irritated enough.

"Minty?"

"Yes, love?"

"I um...I wanted you to know...I confessed completely to my Master before you arrived. Even the small things." She'd caught him in the salles several days ago, and his ears were still scorched from the scolding she'd issued.

"Oh, love." She stopped what she was doing, turned the heat down under the pan, and crossed to him.

He went easily into her arms, leaving the mushrooms. He had to duck his head down to rest it on her shoulder now, but she still managed to envelop him in a hug.

"I've been awful, and I don't even know _why_ ," he murmured into her neck.

"Call yourself awful again, and I'll find where Master Jinn keeps the _jeffret_ oil." She tugged on his bantha tail. "You've been exhausted, and stressed, and overworked for _years_ , dear heart. The Council can't keep working people like this and not expect problems to crop up. You're also very young, still. You can't -"

"I'm twenty-five, Mints! I'm not a _child_."

"No, you're not a child, Obi-Wan, but you're also not done maturing. Many of us will live to see one hundred fifty, dove, and if that's what the Force wills for you, then you're about a sixth of the way into your lifespan. Sithhells, Obi-Wan, we set our expectations of maturity by people who died decades before we do now. Of course they were more mature younger; they didn't live as long to begin with. Your brain hasn't even finished wiring itself up completely, we _know_ that, and yet we expect Knights under thirty to be completely rational and logical when the circuits aren't all there."

"I don't even know what to say to that," he breathed through the overwhelming _understanding_ from her.

"Just give yourself _time_ , love. Your judgment is perfect in terms of a mission; let us catch you up on life, hmm?" She pushed him back so she could reach up to cup his cheek. "You are well-loved, da'mirae, and you can let go with us. Let us carry you for a while, my heart's brother."

His breath caught in his chest, and before he could embarrass himself by _another_ fit of weeping, he pulled her into an embrace, resting his cheek against the top of her head. And then shifted, trying to find a spot where her hair ornaments didn't poke him in the face.

"Of all the nights for fancy hair…" he muttered.

Mintaerael giggled, a bit choked, but still a laugh, and disentangled from him.

"I'm going to go change. I'm not sure this is entirely sanitary to be cooking in." She gestured to her dress, and Obi-Wan realized that it wasn't kept up by the expected transparent netting, but...the only explanation he could fathom was a judicious use of the Force.

"How does that even _work_?" He couldn't stop the question.

"Fashion tape, dove. A lot of fashion tape. Be just a minute."

Obi-Wan stared after her. What in the seven Sith hells was fashion tape, and why were people taping their clothing on? He left that thought and sent back to slicing. Mushrooms, at least, were easy to understand.


	8. The First in Centuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Cohorts make the Council more nervous than others.

"So, what  _ did _ the Council want to see you about?" Obi-Wan asked brightly once everyone settled in the lounge with dinner. "If it wasn't your sudden interest in taping your clothing on?"

He may or may not have been holding on that to deploy at an appropriate time. Like after he'd been sandwiched between Qui-Gon and Mintaerael while getting dinner, only to have them adding to his plate with pointed commentary about his eating habits.

Mintaerael reached over and shoved him in the shoulder. They'd commandeered the floor pillows Qui-Gon dragged out of the closet, so Obi-Wan wouldn't have to sit (and Mints, he was pretty sure, so he wouldn't have to feel awkward about it). Mirael slipped down the sit cross-legged on the floor as well, but that was mostly him wanting to set his bowl on a table.

"Don't be a creep," but her grin took all the heat out of her words. "Apparently, some bright brother or sister in the Force got the smart idea to give younglings little holorecorders. Personally, I'm blaming Quinlan for now."

"Why is that a Council matter?" Mirael paused with his fork halfway to his lips.

"Because one of our very bright little sparks figured out how to get it posted to the 'net. There's an entire database now reserved for candid Jedi holos." Mintaerael watched as Mirael blanched. "I got to spend the last three quarters of an hour denying all knowledge of it, agreeing to track everyone involved down, and then getting grilled as someone caught footage of me moaning to Dav that I'd got coathangered the night before and stealing his caff."

"Coathangered?" Qui-Gon inquired.

"Extremely drunk but not so drunk she passed out. That would be redacted," Obi-Wan supplied absently, picking through his dinner.

"And how would you know that, Obi-Wan?" 

The soft question from his Master made the hair in the back of his neck stand up. Oh, he was kriffed. Again. Balls.

"I'd imagine by sitting near us and listening to us talk," Lex offered a bland smile. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, definitely. I must have heard you use it at some point." Obi-Wan grabbed at the lifeline.

"We're not exactly circumspect at all times, as you may have noticed," 'Khet added.

"And in any case, there're stills, too. It's not anything terribly scandalous, thank the Force, but it shows us as we are, not as everyone assumes we'll be. Also, the news stations got involved, so there's a pretty good line on "Jedi falling over" holos, too." Mintaerael rolled right over anything else Qui-Gon might have asked.

"Not terribly scandalous?" Lex asked at the same time as Qui-Gon's "News stations?"

"The worst is probably me, Dare, and Mai having skin time with some of the babies in the Creche. Dare's had almost a dozen odes to her abs written at this point."

Feemor choked on his rice.

"They  _ are _ a work of art," Mirael commented, a bit too offhand.

"And someone remind me to comm Dav and let him know that 'coathangered' now refers to having got one's needlework project hopelessly tangled." Mintaerael managed over the chorus of "ooooo errr" directed at a furiously blushing Mirael.

"They bought that?" Qui-Gon gave her the side-eye while Obi-Wan sniggered. "And do try actually putting dinner into your mouth, Obi-Wan."

That, at least, stopped the sniggering as Obi-Wan hastened to obey.

"I'm fairly certain that Master Windu decided having to deal with the forum owners  _ and _ whomever is responsible for posting both film and stills is punishment enough. He didn't seem inclined to push it," Mintaerael paused, seemingly coming to a decision.

"And?" Qui-Gon prompted. 

"What I say cannot leave this room." She bit her lip, worrying at it until Mirael reached over to tug it free. "Someone else, and we're not yet sure who, has been sending the forum owner holos of us. They were taken from the security footage, mostly, and...it's us on the worst days of our lives. The Jedi at their worst. They got...they took the footage of when I got myself back here, and from where I was held. Footage of...of all the worst things...our worst times. In Temple and out. Any time a Jedi had a bad mission, it was searched out here and wherever they were."

Obi-Wan felt his stomach cramp.

"All of it? How...how far back?" His voice wavered.

"Almost twenty years. Most of it intensely personal."

"And it was made public?" Voice grave, Qui-Gon reached out to brush his hand over Obi-Wan's hair.

"No. The owner of this forum held onto it. Put it on a device not connected to the 'Net and kept it hidden. He was appalled, it sounded like. Us falling over is one thing, but  _ that _ was beyond anything he'd let out."

"So, we know there's a hole in security, now. We'll fix it." Feemor took a deep breath at Mintaerael's expression. "It can be fixed?"

"Yes, we can fix it. It's just not anything I needed to see tonight."

Obi-Wan got a corner of her pillow and yanked her closer. She leaned into him, thankfully minus all the spiky hair doodads, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. She felt fragile under his arm in a way she never had before, not even on the worst nights.

"Did the Council show you the holos in session?" Lexit asked, finally.

"Lex," Minty looked painfully young in that moment.

"No, Mintaerael. Were you shown the evidence in front of the full Council?" Mehr'khet voice gained a hard edge.

"Yes." 

Obi-Wan shifted so he could hold on to Minty as 'Khet and Lex stood.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Master Jinn." Lex bowed. "We need to see the Council on a matter of some import."

"Of course. I do hope you'll return shortly." Qui-Gon answered politely, inwardly gleeful.

"'Khet, Lex, please! Please don't."

Mirael stood as well, bowed, and followed 'Khet and Lex to find his robe.

"Mir, really? Not you, too."

Mirael stopped to crouch down and cup her cheek.

"It's about time we fight for you, publically, little sister. Did anyone try to stop it?"

Mintaerael sighed, "Master Koon and Master Windu argued against viewing it."

"Thank you. Master Jinn?"

"Yes?" Qui-Gon forced down the grin that threatened. Watching a generation come into their own was always tremendously interesting.

Add in the first Caretaker Cohort in centuries and, well, he was looking forward to the excitement.

"Could you make sure she eats? One of us will be back for her, later."

"I am sitting right here, very much an adult." Mintaerael bit out. 

Obi-Wan hung on to her, leaning down to hiss in her ear, "Right now,  _ that _ doesn't matter. Pride doesn't matter. That they love you and will fight for you  _ does _ ."

Mintaerael subsided at that, and the three marching out the door. She leaned hard against Obi-Wan, grumbling in frustration.

"What just happened?" Feemor looked perplexed.

"That, my dear Padawan, was a Caretaker Cohort coming into its own." Qui-Gon knew he sounded entirely too pleased, but the Council wouldn't know what hit it. "The first in centuries."

  
Obi-Wan glanced up and barely held back a groan. Of course his Master would be excited. This was going to be a karking disaster, he just  _ knew _ it. 


	9. Lessons in Self Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to peel your Knight Initiate off the ceiling after a trying day.

They waved Feemor out the door, the last to leave. A slightly less grim trio had picked Minty earlier, so Obi-Wan got to lean against the wall as the door closed and let himself droop. He still wasn't quite sure what happened early on in the evening, and it felt a bit blurry in his memory, but he really just wanted to sit somewhere quiet and vegetate. For once, the calm of meditation didn't pull; he just wanted the quiet. 

"We have one small matter between us, Obi-Wan, and then you are going to rest." Qui-Gon spoke quietly, not wanting to startle Obi-Wan.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep yet. I might actually be too tired to sleep, Master." Obi-Wan moved at the soft hand on his elbow, letting Qui-Gon guide him to the kitchen.

"I don't remember saying sleep, dear one."

Qui-Gon left him for a moment to root through one of the cabinets and collect a spoon from the cutlery drawer. Obi-Wan looked at the bottle in his Master's hand with absolute disgust written over his face.

"Oh no, Obi-Wan, you're not getting out of this. Although, I am pleased that I had to go and  _ find _ the bottle. I seem to remember a period of your life where it lived on the counter," Qui-Gon chuckled at the memory.

"Hilarious, Master," Obi-Wan drawled, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Master, forgive me, please. I didn't…"

"I think I can excuse some sarcasm tonight, Obi-Wan. Open your mouth, please." 

Obi-Wan did as he was asked, grimacing at the coating bitterness of the  _ jeffret _ oil. He'd completely forgotten just how  _ vile _ the stuff tasted. And he knew, from horribly frequent experience, that he wouldn't be able to clear the taste without brushing his teeth. Rock mint tea more or less worked in a pinch, but toothpaste worked best. 

Caught up in the revolting taste in his mouth, he barely noticed when Qui-Gon turned him sideways. The first smack startled a jump out of him; the second made him yelp. Being smacked on already tender skin  _ stung _ . He let his surprise show when that was all he received before his Master pulled him into a strong hug.

"I'm not complaining, Master, but…"

"Who decides the penalty for poor behavior, little light?" Qui-Gon cupped a hand around the back of Obi-Wan's head, tucking him closer. The tension practically bled out of him at the increased security.

"You do, Master."

"And a little bad language combined with a bit of naughtiness is hardly deserving of any penalty more taxing. Come now, you're going to soak for a bit." Qui-Gon tucked Obi-Wan under his arm and led him to the 'fresher.

They didn't often use the tub, but Obi-Wan needed time and quiet to regain his usual calm.

"Brush your teeth while the bath runs," Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan at the sink.

"Master?" Not even five minutes had passed. Qui-Gon  _ never _ let him rid himself of the bitterness before at least the ten minute mark.

"Go on, Obi-Wan. You have until the tub fills."

Obi-Wan wasted no more time in finding his toothbrush and scrubbing the vile taste from his mouth.

"Master," his voice came out a bit garbled around his toothbrush. "I thought you said I'd be in the corner?"

"You've had an extremely trying evening, and we're both exhausted, young one. Look on tonight as a lesson in caring for yourself. You'll have a bath, and then we are going to put something on that requires little thinking to watch and finish the trifle Mintaerael brought."

Obi-Wan rinsed thoughtfully, his mouth now tasting pleasantly of mint.

"You're spoiling me." He raised an eyebrow at Qui-Gon in the mirror.

"As if that's possible," Qui-Gon smiled fondly. "Get yourself into the bath. I'll be back in a moment."

Puzzled, Obi-Wan did as he was told, stripping off quickly to slip into the steaming water. The tub was sized to allow Qui-Gon to stretch out comfortably; Obi-Wan practically floated. He stretched languorously, the depth and heat of the water easing out the tension he hadn't realised he still carried. A soft, woodsy scent rose from the water...bath salts? Obi-Wan recognized the scent, usually much stronger, as the salts used after a strenuous workout or a disaster of a mission. In any case, Qui-Gon apparently believed that the only bath worth taking involved near-scalding water at a much deeper level than Obi-Wan used.

Qui-Gon returned quickly, carrying a data pad. Obi-Wan had just about resigned himself to being ignored in favor of a report when his Master started reading out loud...from the novel Obi-Wan was working through in his few spare minutes.

He had hazy memories, dimmed by pain or fever, of his Master reading to him through countless illnesses and injuries. This, however, was entirely new and a little...weird? Unfamiliar?

"Stop worrying, Obi-Wan, and enjoy your story." Fond amusement colored Qui-Gon's words.

Well, that put paid to that. Obi-Wan rested back against the tub and let himself enjoy being thoroughly taken care of.


	10. Two Hallways to Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll meet you as soon as I'm able. Anakin, will you behave for Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon moved back and looked down to the boy, now less squished between them.
> 
> "Yes, Mr. Qui-Gon. It's only two hallways away." Anakin answered dutifully.
> 
> "Somehow I believe that you and Obi-Wan together can find trouble anywhere, Anakin." Qui-Gon chuckled, patting Anakin's cheek fondly.
> 
> "Probably, Master." Merriment sparked in Obi-Wan's eyes. "We'll manage to restrain ourselves tonight."
> 
> As warning, this chapter does contain an attempt at assault. If this is triggering, then you may wish to skip this chapter. Obi-Wan is more annoyed and squicked out than traumatized by it.

Obi-Wan kept hold of Anakin's hand as they walked him back to his dorm. Anakin kept trying to bounce ahead, still rather excited from the evening they'd spent together. Qui-Gon held Anakin's other hand, more amused than anything at the little boy's energy.

"D'you think delasfruit would explode if you put it in a cooker?" Anakin asked. They'd tried the fruit for dessert with their evening meal. "The eggs did, when Marrit tried it."

"What did your Proctors have to say about that?" Obi-Wan plinked at his bond with Qui-Gon. Thankfully, his Master knew him well enough that he followed Obi-Wan's lead and swung Anakin between them.

Anakin's delighted squeak echoed off the high ceilings.

"Proctor Ben actually  _ yelled _ , and we had to...to 'vacuate the dorms for a while." Anakin bounced between them.

"Evacuate," Qui-Gon corrected gently. "Did the cooker explode, too?"

He sounded entirely too interested for Obi-Wan's comfort. Obi-Wan remembered certain science 'experiments' in his youth, which were mostly an excuse for his Master and Master Windu to make something explode.

"Not the whole thing. But the door flew right off!"

"That sounds--" Qui-Gon began, engaged interest coloring his words.

"Dangerous, Master. It sounds dangerous. Grandmaster Yoda would be most displeased." Obi-Wan tried to suppress a smirk at the possible reaction.

"Perhaps, Obi-Wan, perhaps. We could invite him to witness...oh, I beg pardon." Qui-Gon dropped back as his comm sounded.

Obi-Wan and Anakin kept walking, quiet so as not to interfere with Qui-Gon's call. When he rejoined them, Obi-Wan asked,

"Master, do we need to go anywhere?"

"No, Obi-Wan, although I do need you to see Anakin back to his dorm. There is a matter I must attend to immediately." 

It was only two days since Obi-Wan had gone missing. He wasn't supposed to leave his Master's side. What was so important?

"Master?"

"Only if you promise me you'll go straight there and wait with Ben and Mai until I come to collect you. We're only a minute or so away." Qui-Gon stopped so he could face his apprentice.

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan stopped as well, his hands immediately going to Anakin's shoulders to keep him in place. "Do you have the late return slip?"

"Here," Qui-Gon handed the sheet of flimsi over, voice grave. "Straight to the dorms and wait, Obi-Wan. I'm trusting you in this."

He cupped Obi-Wan's cheek before pulling him close, inadvertently squishing Anakin between them. Anakin squeaked before devolving into giggles.

"I will, Master. I promise to wait with Ben and Mai until you come for me." It was always best to be specific. 

"Can't breathe!" Anakin wiggled, poking Obi-Wan in the stomach. He wasn't quite sure enough of himself yet to try that on Mr. Qui-Gon.

"I'll meet you as soon as I'm able. Anakin, will you behave for Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon moved back and looked down to the boy, now less squished between them.

"Yes, Mr. Qui-Gon. It's only two hallways away." Anakin answered dutifully.

"Somehow I believe that you and Obi-Wan together can find trouble anywhere, Anakin." Qui-Gon chuckled, patting Anakin's cheek fondly.

"Probably, Master." Merriment sparked in Obi-Wan's eyes. "We'll manage to restrain ourselves tonight."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan. I'll meet you shortly."

They watched Qui-Gon stride off toward the main hall. Obi-Wan took Anakin's hand and started them on their way again. 

"One day I'm gonna be tall enough that Mr. Qui-Gon and me'll squish you." He grinned up at Obi-Wan, more hopping than walking beside him.

"Mr. Qui-Gon and I, Anakin. But it may come to pass." He took the sting out of grammatical correction with a smile. "You'll likely start shooting up soon."

"Is it hard when you start growing? Some of the new Padawans get yelled at by the saber teachers 'cause they keep falling over when they didn't before." Anakin tightened his hold on Obi-Wan's hand.

"Your center of balance shifts when you grow. It can make katas you perfected as an Initiate rather difficult. Have you told your Proctors about the Padawans having difficulty?" Obi-Wan knew intimately the embarrassment of falling over in an easy kata. Bruck had been particularly vile about that.

"I wanted to tell you first." Anakin bit his lip, looking down at his boots.

"And I can talk to Master Qui-Gon about it, as well. Did you want me to talk to Ben and Mai?" He knew he ought to encourage Anakin to go to them, but Anakin had done so many difficult things lately...shouldn't at least one thing be easy?

"Would you? That would be wizard, Obi-Wan!" Anakin regained his bounce. "I didn't know how to say it, and they feel really gross when they get yelled at."

"Of course I can, Anakin. You're welcome to come to me at any--"

"What do we have here?"

Obi-Wan froze in his tracks, instinctively pulling Anakin behind him. Senior Padawan Martius leaned against the wall, blocking their entrance to the Initiate dorms.

"If it isn't Oafy-Wan and his little street rat."

Age hadn't improved him. He'd hung on Bruck's robes as a younger Initiate, and had maintained his belief in Bruck even through everything with Xanatos. How he'd managed to find anyone willing to train him...well, the Force worked in mysterious ways.

"Senior Padawan Martius, good evening. I'm returning Initiate Skywalker to his Cohort. I have a late return slip for him." Obi-Wan breathed his irritation out and maintained his mask of extreme politeness.

"Forged and not worth the flimsi it's written on, no doubt." Martius sneered unpleasantly. "And I don't see an Initiate anywhere. I see an Agricorps washout in the making. And a failure who...well, we know how  _ you _ serve best, don't we?"

Something, some small warning from the Force had Obi-Wan holding Anakin back behind him. He knew Martius loathed him, but this...there was more behind this. Something dark and ugly lurked behind the Padawan's eyes.

"Obi-Wan isn't a failure!" Anakin peeked around Obi-Wan to object. "He's worth ten of  _ you. _ "

"You little…" Martius advanced on them.

"Martius, have you been in the Senate building recently?" Obi-Wan backed up, careful to keep Anakin away from the Padawan. If he could open up enough space, Anakin could run for it.

"Where I go in service of my Master is of no consequence to you, Kenobi." Martius spat.

"I'll take that as a yes," Obi-Wan muttered. "Have you seen the Healers? You would have been ordered there?"

"Those stupid bitches have no idea what they meddle with! But you, you know, don't you? You know the call."

"I actually don't, I'm afraid. Terribly sorry about the misunderstanding." It was nonsense, but if he could get Martius to circle around, then he could send Anakin to the dorms for help. "Sounds like you might need to see the Archivists, though. I hear Mintaerael does wonders with people hearing voices. Or Mind Healer Derfen, but she's more likely to hit you with a chair for calling her...that."

"You won't take it from me, you know. He won't let  _ you _ ruin everything."

If he'd needed confirmation, that was it. It wasn't  _ exactly _ Martius who was running the show.

"What am I trying to ruin, pray tell?" His accent had gone Full Core World, but he didn't much care. He just needed an opening. An open attack would provide a distraction, but Martius topped him by a fair few inches, and he didn't want to give Anakin any foolhardy ideas. "Anakin, when I push you, you run for Ben and Mai. Fast as you can."

Martius stalked forward as Obi-Wan retreated, until he felt the smooth stone of the Temple wall at his back. Martius pressed forward, one knee pushing between Obi-Wan's legs, and...oh. That was certainly unexpected. Obi-Wan pressed back, let his breath hitch as if in fear, and exposed his neck to Martius. With the larger man distracted, Obi-Wan shoved Anakin for the hall.

Martius leaned closer in to Obi-Wan's personal space, breath hot against his ear. Anakin, forgotten by the Padawan, pelted down the hall, shouting. Martius wrapped Obi-Wan's braid in his hand, pulling his head down further to expose his neck more. Obi-Wan reached for calm. He was no stranger to attempted assault, unfortunately. Once past sixteen, he'd found himself an unwitting target several times. Only there was no Qui-Gon close at hand to help this time. 

He could feel his Master through their bond, hurrying to get to him, but he would be too late if Martius really pressed. He didn't want to hurt the other man. He needed help, not harm. He reached deep, deep into the Force, and felt...who? There was someone else there, someone who felt like warm lamplight, rushing to his aid. He could feel the Temple buffering the space between his back and the wall, keeping him from bruising, but this was different. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and shuddered as Martius grazed his teeth over his neck. He was going to have to fight. And also, ugh. Why did so many think that seductive?

"Everyone thinks you're so sweet, so pure, hmm?" Martius sneered in his ear. "But I know. I know you want it. I know what you'll let me do you little sl--"

He cut off with a high-pitched squeal as Obi-Wan slammed a knee upward. Crude, yes, but highly effective against the more obstinate attacker. He slipped away from the wall as Martius was distracted with an entirely different sort of swelling. As long as he could hold Martius off without having to really hurt him, he would.

He kept circling as Martius tried a hobbling advance, keeping his distance. 

"Perhaps you'll enjoy  _ this _ saber play better." Martius sneered and drew his saber, engaging the green blade. 

Obi-Wan sighed. Had he honestly just made a saber play innuendo? Whoever was running the show for Martius certainly had several things to apologize for. He reached for his saber, resting his hand on the hilt.

"Martius, surely we can come to some compromise here. You're not usually so pushy, really. Wouldn't you like to talk?" 

Martius growled in response. Obi-Wan sighed again. He really didn't want to hurt the younger man any more than he already had. With Martius still moving sluggishly, Obi-Wan took a moment to close his eyes and center himself.

He heard extra footsteps in the hall and felt a rush of displaced air. He opened his eyes in time to see a woman bash Martius across the shoulders with a walking stick. He pitched forward into the wall, smacked his head, and went down with a final sounding thud. 

Obi-Wan stared in open-mouthed astonishment for a moment before he collected himself. He sketched a rather shaky bow.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, Madame. I assume you're…"

"Mom!" Anakin's shout, carrying equal measures of shock and delight, echoed off the walls. 

"Ani!" The woman, Shmi, dropped to her knees and opened her arms. Anakin barrelled into her embrace.

Qui-Gon, slightly out of breath, arrived just as Ben and Mai dashed up behind Obi-Wan.

"What in the seven Sith Hells is going on here?" Qui-Gon's hands went automatically to his hips as he surveyed the scene.

"Well, Master…" Obi-Wan started and trailed off, lost for words. "I honestly coudn't say. Although, I believe Mintaerael and Mirael may wish to have a word with Senior Padawan Martius. After he regains consciousness, that is."

He was too busy being hugged by his Master after that to come up with any coherent explanation.


	11. Wherein Obi-Wan Would Just Like a Shower, Please

"Master!" Obi-Wan hissed, shoving at the man currently trying to tuck him practically into his robes. "Master, I'm fine. It's Martius we should be worrying about!"

"Hush, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ordered quietly, tucking his apprentice more firmly against his chest. Feeling Obi-Wan's panic...well, he wouldn't be sleeping very well for many nights. 

Obi-Wan sighed, and then groaned as Master Yoda and Master Windu hurried into the corridor.

"What is going on here?" Windu pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Explain you will, young Obi-Wan." Yoda followed up.

Obi-Wan let his forehead fall against Qui-Gon's chest for a moment to gather himself. He elbowed his Master, hoping he'd be let loose. He might as well have elbowed the Temple for all the good it did. He shuffled around to face the unimpressed Masters.

"Well," he began, trying to gather his careening thoughts. "I...um. I believe Senior Padawan Martius is not feeling very well."

He'd never really experienced several adults staring at him in seriously unimpressed silence before. His Master, yes, on occasion. But never two Council members, his Master, and an Initiate's mother (and Ben and Mai and Mints and Quinlan and Dav, because  _ of course _ everyone decided to show up at the same time). 

Although Madame Skywalker showing up like that had answered at least one question: she glowed softly in the Force. Not Anakin's blinding supernova blaze of strength, but a soft, steady glow to light the dark places. A glow you could see by, feel steadied by. Which, on consideration, was likely how Anakin stayed so stable. Children with access to that much power sometimes ended horribly. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at the unconscious Martius. He never thought he'd  _ envy _ the other man, but there you were. 

"There was an...incident?" He tried again.

"You mean he tried to...Mom, what's the word for…" and Anakin said something in his native tongue.

Madame Skywalker stiffened and covered Anakin's ears. He'd experienced worse in his short life, but that didn't mean she wans't going to try to preserve _some_ of his innocence.

"He tried to  _ assault _ you?" She asked slowly. 

The collective intake of air from everyone surrounding him should have depressurized the entire hallway.

"It's not like that was my first experience fighting someone off," Obi-Wan muttered. "I was trying not to injure him."

"Not your first time?" Master Windu's hand tightened on the hilt of his 'saber. 

"You are aware of...you know how many…" Obi-Wan trailed off, not sure how to explain. Surely the Council  _ knew. _

"Madame, please cover Anakin's ears again." Mintaerael requested and waited until a confused (and simmeringly angry) Madam Skywalker did so. "On a lot of planets Padawans are at least initially considered the next best thing to bed slaves and therefore are openly available."

"Experienced this, I have not." Yoda drooped at the unwelcome news. 

Obi-Wan did NOT look at Mintaerael. If her face was doing what he thought it might be at the thought of Grandmaster Yoda being propositioned…

"Know what your face is doing, Archivist Tha'Mintaerael, I do. But heard this, read this in reports, I have not. Send our younglings into such degradation, I would not." Yoda sounded defeated and...old, tired.

"It's not  _ everywhere, _ Grandmaster," Obi-Wan assured him. "It's just...distressingly common."

"You didn't mention  _ that, _ Master Jinn." Madame Skywalker finally let Anakin hear again.

"I had no idea myself until recently, just how vulnerable many of our Padawans are. I have long kept a close eye on Obi-Wan, but the larger issue was brought to my attention a short while ago."

Meaning, Obi-Wan knew, that Lex probably spent half an hour yelling at him one afternoon.

"In any case," Obi-Wan spoke quickly, before anyone else could express their views. "Padawan Martius is in need of Archivist Mintaerael."

"Not the cells?" Master Windu raised an eyebrow.

"He's been in the Senate buildings recently. I don't think he's entirely himself." Obi-Wan explained carefully. "Normally he wouldn't touch me with a ten meter pole."

"But why an Archivist?" Master Windu pressed, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Surely you'd want an--ow!"

Master Yoda lowered his gimer stick and tapped it against the floor. "Go with you, Archivist, he will. But speak about  _ Her _ later,  _ we _ will."

"Yes, Master Yoda." Mintaerael bowed to the assembled and gestured at Dav.  He edged around the crowd to lift Martius into his arms and follow her out. Quin slipped out behind him.

"It's getting a bit late for Initiates," Mai crossed to kneel by Anakin and his mother. "Anakin's in our Cohort, and we have some guest space as well, if you'd like to be near him?"

"I would, thank you." Madame Skywalker brushed her hand over Anakin's hair. He clung to her, not caring at all about dignity or being too big for it.

"We'll get you both settled." Mai drew her to her feet, leading her off toward the Cohort dorms.

And they were alone with Masters Windu and Yoda.

"I'd like to get Obi-Wan back to our quarters, Masters." Qui-Gon more or less phrased it as a request.

"Hurt, were you?" Master Yoda asked gravely.

"No, Grandmaster. Startled, but not hurt." Obi-Wan answered as truthfully as he could.

"And discuss, the Council will, what we learned tonight." Yoda assured them.

"Knight Initiate Kenobi, if you could reach out and see if anyone would share what planets...the Council would be grateful." Master Windu spoke gravely. 

"Yes, Master Windu. I'll ask." Obi-Wan leaned against Qui-Gon, suddenly quite tired.

"Masters, I'm sure we'll speak tomorrow." Qui-Gon bowed his head respectfully, tucked Obi-Wan under his arm, and led him toward their quarters. 

Obi-Wan leaned into the warmth and comfort and shivered a bit. 

"How does the hottest shower you can stand sound?" Qui-Gon asked gently.

"Wonderful Master, thank you." It really did.

"We will make this right, my light. And if I have to raise hell to get the Council to see reason, we  _ will _ be changing our policies," Qui-Gon promised.

"Tonight, Master, all I want is a hot shower, tea, and some quiet. Can we discuss policy shifts in the morning?" He sounded shaky even to himself, but he just wanted simple comforts.

"Of course, little light. Of course. Come now, we'll get you home."

And Qui-Gon tucked him closer and did just that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should be holding a sign that says "I Ate'nt Dead" :-)


End file.
